The road to Cork
by MaverickPaxAPunch
Summary: He silenced me with a stroppy expression and a grubby finger on my lips. "It's well for some to make their coins sittin' 'round and doing a whole lot o' nothin'. I'm not gonna sit and wither away with my family, Maggie." He leaned down to my height and kissed my forehead. "You can't have it all ways, Gra." Maggie of The Irish Coven's story, human to vampire :D
1. Prologue

**Hello, readers! This story kind of came to me randomly… I've been writing a story for Carlisle and Esme, and some of my chapters I was going to upload erased and I kind of had writer's block for it after that… you know, when your chapters are erased and you can't write them as good as when you did the first time? Oh, so I decided to write a story about Maggie, because I noticed that there weren't a lot about her… Old-time Ireland has always kind of made me interested anyway, and I did some research and here I am… **

**I don't own Maggie or any other characters created by Stephenie Meyer, but I do own the ones I make up… Enjoy! By the way, I get a lot of inspiration from the CD Celtic Mystique, so if you want to listen to that while you read it, I'm sure you can find it on YouTube… ENJOY! SORRY FOR THE LONG DISCLAIMER!**

Prologue

Da was a tenant farmer, so we lived on the same land he farmed. It was a small plot of land, only a few acres, but to me, it was the whole world. We lived in a banjaxed old house that was groaning at the seams, but we always made do with what we had. Though I always knew we were poor, we weren't as poor as some, and I was proud of my Da for giving me something to brag about to the others. He always said if you can't get blood from a stone, you can't get blood from a stone. He worked hard for our family's money, and we were fortunate to not be left hanging at the bottom of the food chain.

My father never came home buckled; I'd only ever seen him drunk once after Ever was born. It was a tough winter, and Ma was dyin', so he was a little mad in the head. I hugged him and told him 'Daddy, Daddy, please don't drink like those langers in town." I was six. Having heard the word from an older boy at school, I had no idea what it meant. I was knocked off my feet when he clubbed me in the head. Apparently ,he wasn't that drunk, and he damn well knew everything his six year old child had said. Any boy at school that called my family culchies would say hello to my fist, and they would be a'swearing like there was no tomorrow. That's where I learned most of the words. In school-yard brawls.

I was a good little one. People always said what a cute one I was, and always pinched my cheeks; my least favorite part of being "cute". Ignorance was bliss to me; I didn't really care what anyone else thought of me unless they called my parents something full of it. Their parents were usually pious morons that thought my family, the McAuleeys, an unsatisfactory bunch of dirty, gammy kids who didn't have an education. Which was a lie, because every one of us walked the two miles to school every day, swinging my leather book strap on the way. It wasn't exactly my fault if they got slightly muddy. But I found out the teacher wasn't kidding about slapping my wrists with a ruler if I got so much as a smudge on them. Ma was never happy about the notes the teacher sent home with me.

I knew when a person was lying. I never tried to keep quiet about it because when someone was lying to me, I felt the great need to blurt out the truth in front of whoever they were lying to. If a man tried to cheat father out of money, or when another kid questioned my pride, I was punished for voodoo and witchcraft. That was why my only friend was Tad.

Thaddeus Magnus Pritchett was the best, and only friend I had. He was poorer than I, and if the others at school thought the McAuleeys were dirty, mingin' muck-savage, Tad was much worse. His family was so poor, he could only come to school half the time because money was so tight, and he was often working out-of-town. Sometimes I seldom saw him for months.

Tad is where my story begins.


	2. Chapter 1

**Hello! Welcome to chapter one! Please commence reading now! :D**

Chapter One

"You get out of here, you rag-order, scutterin' gobshite. Go on, get! We don't want your work here!" Mrs. Brennan swept Tad out of her shop with a broom, yelling insults like the cows would never come home. He jumped out onto the street, his dirty bare feet scuffling on the dust as my breath froze in the air. "Is that you, Margaret McAuleey? What in the devil's name are you doin' here with this skanger?"

I put my hand on Tad's shoulder, pulling him back slightly. "Nothing, mum. We'll be on our way now."

"You get him out of here. I don't take beggars, and I only take clean young'uns to work." Her large bosom shook in front of her, tied up tremendously in her bodice like they might spill out if she shifted the wrong way, and her large arse bounced behind her like a hippopotamus. The door was slammed, the bell ringing in a merry manner. It was far from merry. Tad hung his head.

"Next time." I said softly, trying to put my hand on his shoulder, but he shied away. Tad was not the touchy-feeling sort of lad. He used to like to hold my hand when we were younger, and call me his girl. He stopped that when we were older and people started saying things about me bound to a poor-as-a-potato farm boy.

"There ain't no next time." He stared at his feet and wiggled his bare toes to keep them warm. If there was such a thing as warm bare toes in the crisp winter air. His coat wasn't very sufficient either; the shoulder seam was ripped on the right side, and the lining had long since been torn out to patch up something else. "I'll have to go outa town again."

"Don't leave me again." I said half-heartedly. The years without him had been hard and laborious, and there was barely a speck of humor.

"Gotta," he pulled out the small naggin of whiskey that was the only thing that kept him warm. His short pants were threadbare, his shirt coming untucked as his suspenders that were a size too big sagged. His mop of blonde hair hung in his eyes; it long since needed a cut, and probably a wash, but his face was always clean. "I'm skint, Mag."

We walked along the side of the street, staying out of the way of the passerbys, inching along the sides of the shops. The side-satchel draped over my shoulder jingled with the small amount of money I had kept over the past year. He didn't know that I planned on giving it to him if he was serious about leaving again. Thad was a good skin; never did any wrong, and was honest as the Lord himself, though dirt poor. His father had been a rat-arsed old man who wandered into the wilderness when he was young. Some said he hiccupped then simply died of drunkedness, but Tad suggested that he found a nice leprechaun woman and settled with her. Anyway, his Da wasn't around anymore, and his mother was confined to a wheelchair, or to bed. He spent most of his time taking care of her and his grandfather, who became weaker every day.

"If you go out of town this year, I'll follow you. You can't force me to stay here, I – "

He silenced me with a stroppy expression and a grubby finger on my lips. "It's well for some to make their coins sittin' 'round and doing a whole lot o' nothin'. I'm not gonna sit and wither away with my family, Maggie." He leaned down to my height and kissed my forehead, a surprising act that I hadn't expected. "You can't have it all ways, Gra."

I stared at him. "This'll be along winter."

"You can come wit' me, Maggie. But wherever I go, they'll be wantin' more work…" he trailed off, scratching his head.

"I'll do whatever work they need." I leaned up on the toes of my short boots and kissed his cheek back, the tiniest of affectionate pecks. We linked arms and strolled through the square slowly. He winced each time the frosted souls of his feet landed on a craggy piece of gravel, and by the time we reached country road and frosty-tipped grass, he was leaning on me like a mad dog.

"That's my girl." He finally spoke, smiling. I could tell he was waiting until no one of importance could hear us. Our close friendship was not a public affair, to an extent. I could tell that he told the truth in calling me his. We belonged to nobody but each other.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Brennan didn't give you the job."

"Aw," he shrugged. "Townie jobs don't last pissin' time anyways."

I smiled. He always had a way of making me feel better. Time we got close enough to my parents' small home, I could tell his feet were hurting him mighty bad, so I let him lean on me until we reach the barn. We spent most of our time here, ever since we were small; swinging on the old swing that had been broken by my siblings a few years ago, playing hide and seek in the rafters before I even knew of the social caste that separated the McAuleeys from the Pritchetts. Tad lay back in the hay and buried his feet to keep them warm as I ran inside to show my mother that I was still alive and kickin'.

"Margaret Jane McAuleey!" my Ma, Liffe McAuleey, yelled. Her florid, ruddy face was red with rage, and her stomach spilled out of her apron. She was a plump, veiny woman. She'd bore seven children, of which I was exactly the middle of. Three on each side of me. The first born was Fithial, my older brother by eight years, who was twenty-three and married. My second sibling was Sara, her first daughter, who ran off with a drunk-arsed man who knocked her up with a bastard child. Timothy was Ma and Da's third child, who was two full years older than me. Below me were Sheelin, Emily, and Ever, who were twelve, eight, and two. Ever was by far my mother's favorite child. He was spoiled rotten, as much as one could be in our caste, and was the biggest brute I knew.

"Yes, ma'am." I hung my head, turning to see what I was in trouble for this time.

"You come into this house dirty right after a bath justthismorning!" she wagged her finger at me. "I tell you, Margaret, you are the hardest fourteen-year-old girl to keep clean in all of Ireland! I can't keep you clean for pissin' time! Get over here!" she grabbed me by the hand and dragged me to the washbasin that sat beside the fireplace that was roaring with crackling flames. I looked longingly out the window at the barn, thinking out how I'd left Tad by himself while my mother gave me a licking. The water had a layer of dried soap shavings resting over the top that had fermented with the heat of the fire, and my mother grabbed me by the back of the head, a fist full of my curly red hair in her meaty hand. "For the life of me, child! You look like poor, ignorant, white trash!" she inspected the smudges of dirt on my cheeks then plunged my entire head into the water. I dared open my eyes for a moment under the water, realizing it had been a mistake as it stung. She pulled me up again, and I gasped for breath before she plunged me back again. She repeated with three more times before a crowd had gathered; all my siblings who enjoyed a show in this boring, foggy country now and then.

"She's made hames of herself again, Ma." The snobbiest of my brothers and sisters, Tim, pointed out, a smug look on his face at my dripping head.

"You children get out of here. Margaret, you are to bathe yourself until you are sparkling and shining with all the light of the Lord, and then I will be in to inspect you, as to make sure there is not a speck of dirt on your skin. A speck! Do you hear me?" I was silent for a moment, looking down at my boots again. "Margaret?"

"Yes ma'am." I nodded as she shooed my brothers and sisters out. Tim stayed to taunt me for a moment.

"Look who's been hangin' around that ignorant jakeen again." he wagged his long, thin finger at me. I glared at him as I untied my smock and let it fall to the floor.

"Look who's got a knobby head on 'im." I rolled my eyes as he made an expression that hinted of slight offendedness.

"At least I don't run around town with that filthy Dubliner. You're turnin' just like him." He chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised if you came home hand-in-hand with that culch, bearing his baby."

I shook my fist at him. "You take that back."

Timothy shrugged, not afraid of me. I'd beaten him up many times; he was most likely used to it by now. He never knew I didn't ever beat him up. Not really. If I wanted to really beat that boy up, he'd be dead by now. "I saw you two kissin'."

"OH! You dirty, rotten little liar!" I screamed, grabbing his pristinely ironed shirt collar. "Don't you tell lies like those! Have you been spreading things like that!?"

He shied away. He was much bigger than me, but weaker from years of coddling. "What's it to you?"

I shoved him away. "You better not be making a show of me and Tad. He's a good lad, and you know it! You're just angry you aren't half the man he is!"

"Man!" laughed Tim, straight up in my face again. "What kind of man sponges off of others for jobs! He's probably spendin' all the money he's got at the Local!"

"Go away!" I screamed at him.

"Mother!" yelled Tim. "Ma!"

Of course, she came running and saw the sight of me, in only my jocks, and Timothy feigning injury. "Margaret!" she immediately blamed me.

"He – I!" I started, but she was already taking his side. Nothing new there. My wet hair dripped onto my collar.

"Get your arse clean now, Maggie." She hissed, slamming the door, Timothy sneering behind her where she couldn't see. Angrily, I kicked her sewing stool across the room, though it did no good to destroy things, so I put it back upright. It was no secret that my mother felt uncomfortable around me. She'd always been that way, as long as I remember. Sometimes I could hear her talking to her friends when they were over for tea. She had tried to keep my strange abilities a secret. I always knew when someone was lying to me, or just lying in general. I could barely help yelling out the truth to whomever was being lied to. Ma didn't like it at all. She tried to keep it a secret from the public, but when you're young and obnoxiously pointing out every falsehood you hear, people are bound to notice. She had trouble keeping it on the long finger, so virtually everyone knew about me. Which changed their prejudice opinions before anyone even met me. That was probably why Tad and I fit together. We were both unwanted in society.

I grumbled, pulling off my long petticoat and letting it fall to the floor beside my smock and apron that were slightly sprayed with mud. I shook my hair out as well, stepping into the water tub and dunking my head under. The water was slightly cold, though it'd been sitting by the fire, so I cleaned up as quickly as I could. I got out and reached for a towel, but it was all the way across the room and hung by the fire to dry from the last one who had taken a bath. I grouched to the other side of the room with my arm across my chest and snatched the half-dry towel, wrapping it around myself. My mother entered the room and set a stack of clean clothes on the chair.

"You got everywhere?" she said, her hand on her waist. Her plump hip jutted out, hog-tied in her apron that was smudged with flour and grease.

"Every speck of skin in existence." I scowled.

"You'll keep yourself clean next time." She demanded rather than suggested, nodding once. "Get dressed, and out of my sight."

I hated her. No, I didn't hate her; she hated me, which made her unlikable. No one liked me – instead they accused me of witchcraft and voodoo. No one wanted to be my friend, no one said "Oh, what a nice young lass." If someone was a'lyin', Maggie came a'callin', as old Mr. Pearse said about me. Everyone knew it was damn true; there was no denying I was different than the rest. I had red hair, aside from my siblings with blonde and brown hair, I wasn't a pristine little giddy school-girl. They all claimed that I put the mockers on people. But I wasn't an ignorant git like Tim, or a whore like Sara. I was barely even a McAuleey. But Da loved me. To an extent. At least more than Ma.

I crossed to the old silty mirror that stood in the corner. When Ma wanted to look gussied up, she often used it to do her hair when it wasn't pulled back into a tight bun in the back. Most likely to address someone important with Da. She liked to put on airs. I stared at myself in the mirror that was distorted with age, cracks along the frame.

I wasn't particularly pretty, but I wasn't the worst of 'em. That was what Tad always told me when I complained about my looks that people claimed were given to me from The Quare One himself. I didn't inherit the large bosom from my mother like Sara had – probably part of what had gotten her a bastard baby. I had always been thin, like a lot of folks here in the town of Inistioge. I could see my ribs, but not enough to count them all. I could just see the top ones, and the shadows of the second. My stomach was flat and often hallow form lack of food. We got just enough to get by, but not enough to ever satisfy. It was basically embroidered on the pillows. My elbows stuck out like sore thumbs, and when I turned to inspect my shoulder blades, I could make them touch when I surged my shoulders back. I had a few freckles on my back as well, but those didn't matter because they were covered most of the time. My legs were thin and my knees were just as pokey and stuck-out as my elbows. I wasn't a regal girl, but I wasn't completely ugly.

I pulled on my clean jocks and laced up the petticoat at my waist. I pulled the smock over my head and tied the apron over it with fumbling fingers from the cold. I yanked the stockings over my toes that were slightly blue from cold, lacing my boots that were still slightly muddy. I made sure to kick my toes on the ground behind me on the way outside to satisfy my mother. No doubt she was watching to make sure I was staying clean. I trudged to the barn, tying my hair back with a long piece of twine so it was in a low tail, and then slipped a pin in to secure it. It was still slightly wet and dripped onto the back of my short cloak that only covered my shoulders to the middle of my back and tied at the neck. It was green and made out of a soft, worn felt.

"Well, there she is." Tad smirked at my now-more-clean attire. "And lookin' mighty fine, if I'm allowed to say."

"You're a good one." I shook my finger at him as I carefully climbed up the small wooden ladder to the loft where he was perched, sucking on his naggin of whiskey again. "You cold?"

"When am I ever cold?"

"Always."

"Ask me bullocks, Maggie…" he slung his arm around me sluggishly and pulled me closer in the hay. "You know I'll be fine."

I lay back so I was staring up at the rafters, tracing the spaces in between the wooden planks with my eyes, my breath freezing in the air. Streams of steam floated up, one for each nostril, mixing with the dust mites in the air. He lay beside me, his ruddy body heaving as he let his torso fall back without catching himself. Bits of hay flew up like feathers then floated down heavily. "Jobs are pretty scarce."

"I know. They are." I whispered as he wove his fingers in the spaces between mine. His hand's texture felt slightly roughened by callouses and the dirt coating on the pads of his palms and under his fingernails. I sighed deeply.

"Food's expensive."

"Especially." I agreed, and our eyes finally rolled to meet each other's'.

"I'll go out of town tomorrow."

"I'm going with you."

"You got school."

"Yeah, so do you." I added, scooting closer to him in the straw, letting my head rest closer to his shoulder.

"Yeah, but I skip all the time. You got a reputation." He chuckled softly. "If you don't go, they might barnstorm your house to make sure you ain't stirrin' a big pot o' brew."

I hit him in the arm. "Eye of newt and toe of frog. You be careful now, Tad Pritchett, or you'll be chopped up in the next cordial."

"Don'cha know? Tad finger cures a cough." He laughed and then was silent for a while. "You're still goin' to school tomorrow."

"No." I protested, and his chest rose and fell with a sigh.

"How 'bout you go to school, and I'll be waitin' for ya when ya get out?"

I pondered. "How do I know I can trust you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Am I lyin', or ain't I, you're the one who c'n tell."

I closed my eyes. I knew he was telling the entire truth. That's probably why I enjoyed Tad's company so much; because he was so honest, with himself and me. The only time I ever knew he was telling a lie was when he tried to tell me that he'd be alright. And that was just to make me feel better. "I hate going to school alone."

"You ain't alone, ya got yer brothers and sisters."

"Tim's a slug…" I rolled my eyes.

"If Tim wants to be a little spanner, go on an' let 'im. Don't let him run a dictatorship 'round you… he's only got a lil' seniority."

I threw a handful of stray straw up in the air, letting it rain down on me like it was bucketin'. "I still wish you didn't have to go… not so soon, Taddie."

"It'll be grand, lassie… It's a dose I gotta go, but it's for me ma, grand-dad, and sis. Those tambeens at school ain't gonna hurt ya none, Gra. And soon I'll be by yer side again." he lifted my hand to his lips and pressed them solidly to it for a full five seconds as if he were lingering. A shiver ran through my body; I was startled to feel something other than a friendship.

Hey! What'd you think? Any suggestions? Comments? Please review and keep following!


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Hold onto my hand, now." I spoke softly to Emily as she pulled her stockings up. They were new, and she was yet to fit into them quite right. She was small for an eight-year-old. "You wouldn't wanna get lost on th' way to school, would you?"

She leapt up from the bed after I buckled her shoes for her, taking my hand. If I had to be fond of any of my siblings, it was Emily. She was still at the too-young age to see anything wrong with any people in the world, mostly me. And she loved my red curls. She played with it for hours.

"Can't forget my books." I grabbed the leather buckle-strap that held my school books. I was one of the few of the poorer farm families to be going to school over the age of twelve, but Da insisted on our education so we didn't end up farmers, or farmer's wives.

Emily's hand was warm in mine as I walked her out the door. Tim was scuffling around impatiently, looking as if he might have already left if the fog hadn't been too thick to go on his own. Sheelin, possibly the biggest suck-up gimp to our parents, was standing against the rickety porch, trying to keep herself clean and fresh-looking. Em tugged my arm. "We're gonna be late, Maggie!"

"No we aren't. Whist, now, Emily… school isn't that far away." I patted the top of her head.

She needn't have worried, because there were still children playing in the small school-yard, hat flaps flying behind them as they skipped and ran, playing on the near-frozen seesaws. A few idiotic boys around Sheelin's age or a bit older were throwing chunks of ice at each other, laughing. "Run along an' play." I scooted Emily towards a group of eight and nine-year-olds playing jump rope, and Sheelin ran to her friends. Timothy sat against the fence with his bum on his stack of books so he wouldn't get a spot on his pants.

"Go on, get." He sneered at me grimly. He took his seniority by one year much too seriously most of the time. "I don't needa be seen by my witch for a sister."

"What're you talkin' about, I don't see Sara 'round here anywhere." I added wistfully before stalking up to the front of the schoolyard where most of the people my age gossiped. I don't know why I was drawn here. But gossip was one of my least favorite things in the world, probably because none of it was true. They all hated when I tried to butt in, but I couldn't help it. When there was a lie, I had to loudly blurt out the truth. It was just plain uncomfortable to be around a liar, and Sorcha Breev was one of the biggest liars ever.

She was the daughter of one of the rich merchants, so she wore expensive clothes, and was always parading around with needless jewels. Her hair was long, flowing, and black, her eyes like perfect violets. She was the biggest gossiper too, and I despised her voice full of falsehoods.

"Why, hello." One of her friends, Alana smiled slightly at me. I had nothing against Alana; she was actually quite fine, but if Sorcha started her gossip, she'd join right in.

"Where's that farm boy?" Sorcha smirked, her perfect teeth glinting.

"None o' your beeswax." I rolled my eyes, making sure it was quite obvious.

"I heard he was kicked out of the Brennan's shop, eh?" she sniggered, along with a few of the other girls.

"Shut up." I growled under my breath.

"Not even clean enough to work for the Brennans, of all people…"

"Shut your raggin' mouth 'fore I shut it for you, you crag." I hissed, and she made an expression as if I had just ripped the face off of her mother. She was about three inches taller than me, but was dressed so regally, I doubted she would dare fight me. My clothes were old hand-me-downs; half of them too big, the other half too small. My jocks and undergarments were an assortment of miss-matched manor, and my smock was nearly threadbare. My hands balled into fists. "If I were you… I'd shut your mouth before somethin' bad happens."

"You stay away from me, you bogger McAuleey." Sorcha rolled her eyes.

"Stay 'way from her." Tim was suddenly dragging me away like I had no self-control. I just noticed that I was kicking and fighting against him like a wild beast. "Ain't worth it, girl."

"Get off me." I spat in his face but missed. It hit the ground.

The torturous school day seemed extra-long. I worked my way through the arithmetic problems and studied biology like the rest of the children my age. When I looked out the window in the long stretch, Tad was waiting outside against the gate, his breath trailing up out of his nose in two straight puffs of air that became stagnant and fermented as they traveled up out of his nostrils. I grinned out the window, and he smiled widely back. his breath now came out of his mouth like he was smoking a pipe out of his throat. He waved slightly, a lazy flick of his hand. I waved back when I thought the teacher wasn't looking. Mr. Eda was the meanest man I ever knew; a forty-eight year old bachelor who's favorite pastime was torturing children. Especially the other ones he could get a better handle on. He slapped a ruler on my desk, just barely missing my hand.

"Maggie McAuleey," he tsked, shaking his bony finger at me. "How did I know you'd be daydreaming out the window."

"Not, sir… t'was just wavin'."

"To whom?"

"No one, sir."

He smirked and his shoulders slightly went up and down. "Waving to no one?"

I took a glance out the window to see if Tad was out of sight. He was nowhere to be seen. A smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth pulling up only slightly as I saw the rustle of trees and a slight break in the low-hanging fog.

"Jus' the fog, sir."

"Come with me." he growled under his breath. I could smell the stench of chew tobacco, and the rank of his clothes that smelled of desperation and the need to torture his students. My palms started to itch, and as he led me to the front of the room, they were sweaty. I pulled my sleeve over my right hand and rubbed the fabric against it hard to try and scratch the strange, nervous sensation, but I couldn't seem to stop my palms from the strange feeling. He handed me about a half a piece of white chalk, raising his eyebrows that reminded me of mice. He took another full piece and wrote in barely-legible cursive on the board, muttering the words as he wrote. "Maggie McAueleey..." he wrote in his script. "needs to stop… daydreaming… and staring out the window… when she is supposed to be studying." He doted the period extra hard. "Write this one hundred times before you leave today."

The older children sitting near the front snickered, and Emily and Sheelin looked embarrassed as hell. "Sir," I said quite loudly, and he turned around. "This is a lie."

"Excuse me?"

"I do not daydream, sir. This is a lie."

He stepped closer. "Write it, one hundred times."

"I will not write a falsehood." I persisted, gritting my jaw. I could stand him saying it out loud, but writing a lie for the entire schoolhouse of students to see was enough to make my so-called 'lie-detector' uncomfortable.

"Just shut yer gap and do it, Maggie!" Alexander Wright called with his hands cupping his mouth like I couldn't already hear him. I turned to glare at him. "We don't need yer witchcraft!"

The class sniggered and I felt my cheeks burn red.

"Enough. Now you will write this two hundred times. You'd better write small, Miss McAuleey." Mr. Eda seemed quite smug with his jolly-little rat-like self. My ears felt like someone had set fire to them, and my eyes threatened to brim over with steaming teas. My lip quivered. I hated being made a fool, especially in front of the entire class. I lifted my shaking left hand and wrote quickly and messily, but small: _Maggie McAuleey needs to stop daydreaming and staring out the window when she is supposed to be studying_, dotting the period with much more grace than the tyrant of a teacher. I wrote this over and over until my fingers were numb and my wrist stung each time I pressed down the chalk that I had managed to shave down to half of its length. My fingers were covered in a white film by the time I was done, and my whole arm tingled with pain. The entire board was covered in my crooked writing, and the soul being left in the room was Mr. Eda.

I slowly set the piece of chalk on the wooden board meant for holding erasers and such, dusting off my hands and nursing my sore arm. I'd written the sentence exactly two hundred times, and he seemed satisfied with himself. He wore an even more smug grin as I crossed across the creaky boards to him. "I'm finished, sir."

"You suppose?" he seemed to ponder. I clenched my good, right fist. I was the only left-handed one in the family.

"Yessir. Two hundred times exactly."

He handed me an eraser and my heart sunk. "Erase the board and beat the erasers."

"But sir, I –" I bit my lower lip so hard I could feel my teeth leaving an indentation. "Yes sir."

He nodded and crossed to the window, staring out it like a fool. If I had no sense, I would have ran up to him and beat the dusty erasers on either side of his head like a pair of cymbals, but I held my arms out in front of me like a soldier, beating them until there was barely a speck of dust in the air. I did this with four sets of erasers I was sure he never even used. My hair was frosted in a layer of white and gray dust by the time I finished, and both of my arms felt like I'd carried around twenty pound weights the entire day.

"I'm finished, Mr. Eda." I said in a near exhausted whisper.

He looked up from his book, letting his feet down from his desk. The sour bachelor looked over his glasses at me, my shaking, starving frame that quivered with hurt and that voice in the back of my mind that called him a liar. I bit my lip again, trying not to blurt out "even though it was a lie".

"You may leave." He dismissed me, and I basically dragged myself out the door. It was foggy again, bucketin' rain, and to top it all off, dusk was beginning to dim the horizon like a flickering candle. I'd been standing so long, my ankles ached in my short boots, and the slaggy mud made it harder to walk.

"Oh, you lass." I was startled when Tad emerged from the brush, a few scratches and mud-licks on his cheeks. I screeched slightly then calmed as I saw his soft angular features.

"It's just you." I sighed, stopping to let the rain fall on me. My breath came in short, much-too-exhausted puffs as my skin quivered, struggling to keep me warm. I left my blue shawl at home again, and my almost threadbare clothing gave little protection to the cold. He draped his old coat around me gently, taking my arm and wrapping it around his shoulders. "Don't, you'll be cold." I hesitated, but his body was so warm against me, it was like being next to a furnace.

"Nonsense, girl. What kinda yoke are ya playin' at?" he crooned softly, steering me on the path towards my home. I sighed and closed my eyes, letting him lead me.

"Why'd ya wait for me, Tad… ya could be home by now."

"What's at home?" he shrugged. "I stopped home earlier. I promised you I'd wait for ya af'er school," he scratched his wet hair that was tied back with a piece of twine. "Don'tcha remember?"

Tad had never lied to me once. I hugged myself closer to my closest mate. "You bogger, you didn't have to."

He shrugged. "Eda gotcha again…"

I nodded and there was silence besides the wind and the rain pattering against our backs, bouncing to the ground like forgotten springs and coils.

"Sentences." I finally croaked, realizing how hard I was crying. I sniffed like a baby, feeling bile in the back of my throat. That was the thing – I always made myself upset to the point that I was sick. "He made me write two hundred times… It was a lie, Tad, it was a lie, and he made me write it two hundred times."

We stopped walking, and he held his strong, but noodle-like arms around me. If anyone knew how uncomfortable lies were for me, it was Tad. When someone lied, I had to point it out loudly, obnoxious, rude, impolite, or out-of-circumstance as if might be. But eventually when others found out that I spoke the truth before anyone else even knew, they called my "powers", if even considered that, evil, just for telling them the truth.

"Chin up, Gra." He cooed softly, in a tone of voice I'd never heard him use before. I sobbed as he tried to push up my chin with his long index finger, but it was no use. I let my chin rest in between my collarbone in defeat. I barely ever cried, especially not in front of the strongest person I'd ever known. "Shhh, shhh… let's get you out of this rain, you're bound to catch cold out 'ere." He wrapped his arm around me and led me through the woodsy trail like I was blind, tightly holding onto my hand. The warmth and pressure of his slick palm in mine was so reassuring, but something I had never felt before stirred in my chest. my heart screamed yes, this feels so right, but my mind screamed just as loudly no, this is entirely wrong. I let neither of them rule now, living neutral, letting him lead me to a small cover of pine trees with wide palm-like branches that caught the rain like an umbrella.

"There, here, lean against me." he opened his arms after sitting with his knees up in front of him. I cautiously curled up against him, still sniffling loudly enough for him to tell. I closed my eyes, feeling his soft calloused hair stroke over my wet hair line at each breath I took. "Take it easy, Gra… some days are rough, eh?"

That reminded me. "Did you find a job outa town, Tad?"

He took a breath then sighed. "Yeah."

"What?"

Silence.

"What?" I demanded again.

"There's an old man… he ain't getting' any younger, and he needed a lil' bit o' help with his blacksmith shop –"

"Blacksmith!" I cut him off suddenly. "No!"

"Ya didn't let me finish, ya gowl!" was his sudden outburst. My lip quivered. "Oh, Maggie, I'm sorry… I didn't mean tha'… please."

"Finish tellin' me." I pouted.

"Anyways, he needed help… he said I was young, an' I could learn by bein' his apprentice. He'd pay me overtime, he said I was a trustworthy lookin' boy. So I'll have money for me family, ain't that somethin', Mag?"

"How far away?" I questioned quietly.

"'Bout ten miles… he said I c'n stay with 'im… like a boarder…"

"Oh." I whispered.

"I'll miss you."

It was a silent stab to the heart. I wouldn't be going with him. I would have to stay here in Inistioge. I wasn't able to go with him. I closed my eyes again and leaned against him, inhaling his musky scent of woods and soap. I didn't know when I fell asleep against him, but I did.

I woke to a slight sway of his steps, my head flopping against his chest as he took step after step. I opened my eyes to his face slightly smirking down upon me like I was the most interesting thing in the world; I smiled back. "You cat, you didn't hafta carry me."

"You was sleepin', wouldn't be proper o' me to wake ya." He smiled again and held me tighter to him.

"Lemme down." I croaked, realizing how badly my throat hurt. I probably caught somethin' in the rain, or simply scratchy from all the cryin' I did. I musta cried myself to sleep for at least an hour.

"As ya wish, Gra." He set me straight on my feet, catching me as I wobbled. I could see the smokestack in the distance and the light in the windows of my rickety home.

"Ya carried me all the way here?"

"Course." My rubbed my head gently with his fingers, putting his arm around me. He walked me the rest of the way to the house. Da was waiting by the door with a dry blanket.

"Maggie." Da took me under his large, tan arm, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. I buried my face in his smoky-smelling coat. He looked up at Tad. "Thank you, son."

Tad nodded and turned to leave. My father stopped him. "Thaddeus…" Tad seemed startled at his full name. "You needn't walk all th' way back 'ome tonight…"

"I'll be forever grateful of your hospitality, but m' fam'ly's waitin' for me." he bowed, something he only did in the presence of men such as my father. Da nodded once and tightened his arm around me as the heavy wooden and brass door swung shut.

"Come now, Maggie… you hungry?" the pressure of Da's hand on my head was enough for comfort as he guided me to the kitchen where there was a plate of food set for me.

"A little." I admitted, my stomach growling like an angry beaver. He sat me down in a creaky wooden chair, shoving more wood in the stove, assuring the blanket stayed around my shoulders.

"Fithial…" my mother was suddenly in the kitchen, a stern look on her face.

"Leave her be, Liffe… child's hungry." He soothed, pressing his hand into her shoulder. I could tell she wanted to glare at me, but she wouldn't under the watchful gaze of my father. He might be the last person in Ireland who had a soft-spot for her, if he has any affection for her at all anymore. But my Da loved me. Maybe best of all. One thing that I still had.

"I'll bet she is, she's been returned home three hours late! It's seven o'clock!"

"Let 'er eat in peace." When I looked up at my father, I caught him wink at me, and I smirked out of the corner of my mouth as I chewed.

"You better enjoy that, Maggie," my mother scoffed, pulling away from my father. He shrugged. "There won't be any more potatoes for a while."

"What?" I made the mistake of speaking with my mouth open, but I put my hand over my lips. "What do yo mean?"

"Goodness, child… I figured everybody knew… probably because you live in that own little fantasy world of yours… shipment's runnin' low on potatoes… the crop's not been good this year. They said it's basically failed." She looked at the wood stove like it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. "They say by the end of winter, there will be barely any food."

I stared at her. Da shook his head, making a 'pfft' noise. "Tabloid nonsense, Liffe… that's just a load of bullshite… we'll be fine. Those are just estimates! Silly, catty estimates!"

Ma shook her head. "I'm just sayin'… we'd better ration."

Whoever said the potato crop was horrible was right. Winter was hard this year. I did not start to notice the decline of the food supply; not until I had nothing to take for lunch. I thought, at first, that we were just getting poorer. People like Tad never had any lunch to take in the first place. I didn't have a problem with being poorer. But then, by the end of the first month of winter, people of higher castes weren't bringin' a crumb to school for lunch. I started to worry by about the time of my fifteenth birthday.

I hadn't seen Tad for weeks when he showed up at my door one morning. Ever was runnin' around like a chicken with his head cut off – Saturdays were always full of turmoil and craziness, and I could hear Emily banging on the wall in the other room, for whatever reason. "SHUT YOUR GOBS, ALL OF YOU!" yelled Tim, who was trying to read as always, but I slammed the door and threw myself on Tad.

"Thaddeus Magnus Pritchett! You crazy savage, you!" I exclaimed, wrapping my arms around his neck and legs around his waist like an opossum. A rather sluggish one, but all the same. He wrapped his arms around me as well, chuckling.

"Well, I see someone's missed me, eh?" he set me down on the porch. "Happy birthday, feek."

"OH! I didn't expect you!" I exclaimed. "How long can you stay!"

"One night." He smiled, putting a finger to my lips. "I missed you, Magg… how 'bout we go to a party ta'night?"

"A party?" I cocked my head. Being Irish, there were lots of festivals and parties this time of year for Christmas. But I hadn't heard of one, nor had I been invited to even the lowest of them this year. Food was short, just as had been predicted.

"Yeah, Dag my employer's been invited to a party, an' he said I could take ya if ya wan', cause I says, it's your birthday! And you deserve a party!" he grinned ear to ear, and I grabbed his face in my hands.

"Tell me you aren't foolin'!"

"The nails, your nails!" he exclaimed, digging my fingers out of his slightly scruffy cheeks. "Quare, woman, a gal turns fifteen and she grows a damn pair of talons!"

"I'm sorry!" I exclaimed, kissing his cheek. His jaw seemed more angular now, and stronger. His body was broader-looking, out of place with his face. His eyes seemed a little more hardened. I had forgotten over the past couple of months that he'd turned seventeen.

"S'alright, I'm fine-like. So, what do ya say?"

I could hardly stand it, I wanted to go so badly. "I gotta ask my Da!"

"Well, hurry, if ya wanna get there by sundown!" he grinned.

Da approved full-heartedly. He kissed me atop the head and told me to be back by mornin'. He knew I was a young woman now, better than anyone else, an' he trusted me in Tad's care. He basically raised him up as his own son. He shooed me off, promising to keep Ma occupied, and I jumped on him and kissed his broad, scruffy face.

"Go on, now, happy birthday." He smiled and booted me out the door. Tad grabbed y hand and led me to a valiant steed, an appaloosa with gray spots.

"A horse?" I questioned. Tad only ever walked places. I also noticed he was wearing a sturdy-looking pair of boots instead of his usual bare feet.

"It's Dag's, my employer. He's old, ain't got a use for swift horses." He climbed into the saddle and offered me a hand up. I noticed that it seemed bigger, and wasn't as soft as it was months ago. He gave me a slight smile and pulled me up in back of him on the seat of the saddle. The warm creature moved underneath me at the weight then whinnied slightly. "Name's Hayze."

"Like the fog?"

"Yep." He grinned and kicked Hayze in the sides. "'Up, boy!" he reared back slightly and bolted.

I could hear the music of the party and see the lanterns flickering before we arrived just at sunset. The sounds of laughter and singing, pipes and flutes playing, were music to my ears, and Tad slipped down from Hayze, leading him over to a stout tree to tie him. He took my hand and helped me down.

"Ready?" he smiled, linking our arms.

"I won't know anyone."

"You know me."

I hesitated.

"Come on, Gra! It'll be fun!" he tried convincing me.

"Tad?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I yer date?"

He stopped walking, his breath streaming out from his nose in two solid pokes of white air. "I… supposed ya are, lass."

I smiled and skipped next to him. "Alright." I was strangely fine with that. I actually was honored to be Tad Pritchett's date. I interlaced our fingers like a tangled ball of twine and smiled.

The party was bustling with joy and love, men clinking together large foaming glasses of whiskey and ale, they laughed and punched each other, some of them I could tell were incredibly plastered, so drunk they probably couldn't tell me if a mouse were a dog or a cat if I asked 'em. But they seemed happy enough, and some of their alcohol sloshed onto my blue short-cloak as Tad pulled me through the dancing crowd. I giggled when he pulled our linked hands into an arch above a couple that was stalling so hard, their lips seemed to be connected with candle wax that was saliva. The male's hands slipped down the woman's waist, squeezing behind her as her fingers gripped the back of his neck, tightening and loosening in his bright red hair. They were so obviously in deep love that I had to smile.

"C'me on!" Tad laughed, tugging me. I lurched forward, nearly tripping on a man that was laughing so hard on the ground that he appeared to be dying. I giggled loudly, though no one probably heard me over the music. A group of dancers were doing a jig, on the table of all places!, and one of the tall en dancing like a leprechaun himself winked at me. I blushed, my face turning red, I'm sure, and Tad grabbed my waist and spun me around. I laughed as he spun me into him, twirling my hand up in his until I twirled into his chest like a pirouette.

"Taddie!" a high voice called, and Tad became alert to a young boy pushing his sharp elbows into the crowd. He had a large mop of black hair that looked like a dust-rag, and his shirt was either covered in sweat of whiskey. He couldn't be more than twelve or thirteen years of age. "Taddie, boy! It's good to see you!"

Tad wrapped his arm around my waist, and I let my hand rest against his heaving chest. dancing was hard work. And this was my birthday date. "Will! S' been too long, m'boy!" he smiled, grabbing him and giving his ratty hair what he called a noogie. He turned to me. "Maggie, this is Dag's younger apprentice, Will."

I curtsied because it seemed appropriate. "Dia Duit, Will. I'm Maggie."

"Well, if yer Miss Maggie, happy birthday." He grinned, showing a mouthful of crooked teeth and a pink tongue.

"Thank you." I grinned back as his hat fell when he bowed. He quickly grabbed it off the ground with much embarrassment. He brushed it off an tossed it back on his head rather crookedly.

"Congratulations on makin' it so far." He kissed my pale hand, and I noticed my fingers were slightly shaking like I had tremors. "When Tad a'talked about ye, I didn't eve' think ya'd be this beautiful."

I blushed. "Thanks."

"Wanna meet me employer?" Tad smiled. But a different kind o' smile. A sort of tender smile, not the friendly smile he gave anyone who was nice to him. This one was a little different.

"Of course. Gotta see who's keepin' you from me." I smirked, and he rubbed the back of my hand with his now-bigger hand.

"It's all worth it…" he promised me as we came before a relatively old-looking man. He was hardened-looking, but had a dark beard to soften his mouth, and it looked like salt and pepper because of the gray specks running through it. His nose was big, but not too big for his face, and his skin was hardened as if an old piece of leather. His hands shook like fissures in the very earth, or the aftershock of an earthquake, and his smile even shook as he grinned at Tad.

"Thaddeus, me boy. Nice night, eh?"

"Isn't is just?" he smiled. "Mr. Dag, I'd like to introduce ya to Maggie. Maggie, this is Mr. Dag." I'd never heard him speak in such a polite manner. He was always dropping gs and talking in a grumble barely even I could understand.

"Why, 'ello Miss Maggie. It is nice ta finally meet ya." He took my hand and I could tell he shook it much more vigorously than he intended to because of his hand tremors.

"It's nice to meet you." I smiled out of the corner of my mouth as I often did. "This is a wonderful party, sir."

He waved his hand and chuckled. "Idn't my party, honey. You're just me guests. Not really no one's party, it's everyone's party." I already liked his employer, Dag. "So why don'tcha have fun?"

I smiled. "I will sir."

"Happy birthday!" he called, sipping his foamy cup of ale.

"C'mon!" Tad laughed, pulling me into the crowd of jiggin' dancers, kissing couples, and drunk geezers. I gasped with surprise as a man with a tray f iced mugs shoved a shimmering cup of whiskey in my face, foam dripping over my hand as I took it with doubt.

"Tad…" I trailed.

"Drink it." He grinned, taking a swig of his own. "Won't hurtcha."

I took a cautious sip – it tasted foul and dry in the back of my throat, and I coughed as it slid down like a liquid mudslide. I wanted to spit it out, but also wanted to impress Tad; he drank it so easily, like a baby to a bottle.

"How's it taste?" he smirked, obviously amused by my expression.

"Like… I just drank a load o' shit." I said honestly, and he laughed through his nose like a horse.

"Drink it more… it gets better."

So I listened to him. I drank the entire glass, chugging it by the time I was at the bottom and it was just foam. I licked the lather off my lips and smiled. I had a warm feeling in my stomach and my throat vibrated like an electric furnace. "I want more." I giggled, and he soon handed me another glass.

"To your fifteenth birthday!" he grinned, and we cheered and toasted to another winter, chugging half our glasses.

"To fifteen years!" I laughed, drinking glass after glass. It started to taste better and better each sip I took, until it tasted like I was drinking pure liquidized sugar that had been caramelized at the bottom. Tad pulled me to the crowd of happy dancers, though I was starting to feel slightly dizzy, and like I could barely get my words out. My speech blurred together, and each time I tried to speak to Tad, his shaking finger came to my lips, chuckling.

"Magic juice." He laughed in a strange voice as he twirled me around to the music that was suddenly like a drone in between my ears. My head ached like no other, but I couldn't even help laughing. Tad pulled me close to his body as my vision seemed to blur the people around me together.

"I really missed you." I said, trying to lift my hand up to touch his face. He smelled strongly of ale, and his usual scent, mixed with the sweet sweat smell.

"I missed ya too." He pressed his nose into my hair gently, rocking me to the slow fiddle and flute song. "Maggie?"

I looked up, and his lips crushed mine. Surprised at first, my eyes were wide open as I stared at his face, studying his eyebrows. The only thing I could see from this vantage point. I then closed my eyes and leaned into the kiss deeply, meeting with him with a soft touch of the kiss. His lips were warm, and tasted sweet like the alcohol, and I suddenly wanted more of him. My lips grabbed onto his lower lip that tasted like caramel, and he seemed to lead on as well, kissing me harder. I grasped onto the divot between his upper lip and nose that never looked so perfect before in my life; he was absolutely smashing. His hands slid down my waist, down to my bottom – we became that couple that was snogging when we first arrived.

"Come on," Tad kissed me sloppily on the side of the head, pulling me away from the party – the dancers, drinkers, kissers. He pulled me along for what seemed like years, especially since everything looked almost double, and I was suddenly inside a freeing barn. I looked around slowly, trying to take in the smallest of things; it seemed like my mind couldn't even take in something like this. This must be where Tad lived – a small hay bed was set in the corner, and covered in a plaid cover, a few thin pillows and boards covered in hay. He pulled me to the make-shift bed, his and on the small of my back.

"Don't be afraid." Tad shushed me, pressing his hands into my hips. He pulled me on top of him so my legs straddled his waist as he lay in the "loft", and I felt his hand travel under the smock of my dress. It was warm where the palm was the middle, though the tips were cold and I shivered. But I didn't stop him. He pulled his shirt over his head.

Giggling, my head made a soft thump as he was suddenly over me, his hand cupping the back of my head. He leaned down and kissed me as my nails scraped slightly down his back , attempting not to break the skin. My mouth hung open as he kissed down my collarbone, unbuttoning the loose smock from my neck down to my bellybutton. I realized my hand was laced in the back of his hair like my life depended on holding onto him, and I sighed with relief when his lips met mine again. Toad groaned slightly when I started to slip my dress off of my legs when we stood.

"It's okay." I whispered between kisses, then was pressed against the wall. A chill ran through my spine as I realized I had been dressed down to my underwear. I could feel the weight and slight restraint of his body on mine, his muscles struggling not to give into everything, and his lips showed all the pressure of what he wanted. And I wanted it too. My movements became more hurried, rushed, less fluent as he held me against the wall, kissing my neck for the longest time. I gasped as his fingers slipped under my bra strap.

I gave into him, and he gave into me. The party continued outside, close enough for me to hear the laughter and music.


	4. Chapter 3

Well, here is the third chapter. I used a song to inspire this one, it is called Cliffs of Doneen, from the Celtic Mystique CD, if you want to listen to it while you read, I think it is just lovely :D

Three

Light streamed through the rafters like tiny bits of fire, screamin' to be recognized as they forced their piteous way through the cracks between the boards in the drafty barn. I fluttered my eyes and finally opened them to Tad's sleeping face beside me. He looked just like a wee little one asleep, almost like he was still a baby. Never saw any of my brothers or sisters that way when they were little ones. Not precious, just a nuisance. I smiled at his sleeping expression and leaned up, scooching over so my head lay against his bare chest that was covered in a soft bit of fair hair. I closed my eyes again and breathed in his slight scent of hay and whiskey. Safe as houses to say he was a'sleepin' like a rock, and I wasn't gonna wake him.

I almost fell asleep again, but his slim stirrin' nudged me outa the slumber again. My lashes fluttered on my cheeks as I turned up to look into his dark eyes that shone with the reflections of the rafters' light. He smiled, just as he always did, and I smiled back as he stretched one arm around me. Tad, oh my Tad.

"Well?" I said with anticipation.

"What…" he muttered sleepily and buried his nose softly in my messy hair that had bits of hay sticking out every which way.

"How long ya loved me." I slurred almost inaudibly and curled up more against him, feeling my back scrape against the straw and wood of his makeshift bed. He seemed to think for a moment, either that or he was just tired.

"Since year dot." He whispered softly, kissing his lips directly to my temple where they stayed there for a while until his hand moved down my shoulder to press between my shoulder blades. Dust motes in the air were visible in the sheens of light in the barn, and I watched them float leisurely by his face as I leaned up and pressed my lips to his. They were warm, damp, as they were last night, and the thicket where the outside turned into the inside was wet and cool against my skin as he lifted me up onto his lap and sat up, kissing up my shoulder and staying there for a while, then making it to my neck. His lips moved against my neck in a fluid pattern like he had mapped it out long before, and he ran his fingers through my hair so softly and gently, like he was cradling a baby. I'd never seen a man so gentle, it made me wanna cry that he was loving me this way. I felt seasick every time he kissed me, my entire body like a trough fulla jam, but in that vulnerable moment at each sensitive embrace, I leaned into him even more so I was above him. He continued to plant lots of little kisses over my shoulders and chin, then moved to my face, pushing my messy hair out of my features as he kissed every inch, not missin' one bit.

I giggled loudly as he pulled both of us back in the hay, me on top a him with my legs straddling his waist. Warm hands cradling my waist, he stared up at me with his admirin' eyes.

_ "Tá tú iontach álainn." _Whispered Tad delicately as his palm rubbed the side of my torso gently. He genuinely stared up at my face and a smile lit up my own. He repeated his wonderful phrase. "You are amazingly beautiful."

I bit my lip and smiled with my top teeth still over my bottom lip. "Would ya ever do that with another girl?"

"Never."

"Ya'd listen to me rabbit on and on all day, and ya'd still love me?"

"I told ya, I've loved ya since the beginning, girl." Said Tad, chuckling softly. "Why d'ya believe me soft as shite?"

I layed down gracefully next to him and linked our fingers together, laying just so my lips were pressed to his lanky shoulder as I talked. "I'll say it once and I'll say it again, you're a good skin, Taddie."

"No one's as good a girl as you."

"You're lyin'." I giggled and pressed my forehead to his. He laughed.

"Am I now, _rua?_ You tell me." he rubbed his hand on the back of my head and traced his thumb on the curve of my nose. Of course, I know he isn't lyin'. Tad's honest. So pure, and direct, and I've never once caught him in a lie meant to hurt anyone. Never meant anybody a speck a harm, and he was softhearted with a solid shell. A plain good lad.

"I gotta be back home." I groaned deeply into his shoulder and my eyes started scannin' round to find my clothes that were strewn about. Not a speck was I wearin', and the winter draft tickled my skin in unsatisfactory ways as Tad rose from the hay bed and started sleepily rubbing his eyes.

"I know yain't made up ta be home, but we eventually gotta separate."

My heart felt a million pounds at the thought of bein' away from Tad again. Yesterday happened to be the first time I'd seen him in months. And every other time it was brief. He took me down to the surf and we talked, but those sessions never lasted more than a few hours. I didn't think I could stand that anymore.

"Please no." I begged, throwing myself at his feet and clinging onto his legs like a wee child. He laughed, but I was serious, I was gonna hold onto him until someone tore me off. "Let me stay with you."

"Now, Gra," he said while he picked up his jocks and trousers, pulling them both on at the same time, stumbling slightly into the hay when he lost his balance. "Ya know I hafeta work. This is me job. Me an' Will, we signed a contract for Dag, and he needs us. I'd be breakin' a contract if I went back home with ya. This is gonna work out for the best, see? I make money. We can start our life ta'gether." He kneeled down, still in only his bottom portion of clothes, and tipped up my chin. "You're smashin', Magg. Let's make it a jolly good mornin', huh?"

I smiled as he leaned in to kiss me once more before I scuffled around like a plastered one who'd just drank a few jars. My head was still a little fuzzy from all that ale I drank last night, but my body just responded to it like normal, just teeterin' a little on m' feet, and once I was balanced I felt alright. I pulled on my own undergarments and pulled the hay from my hair, combin' my fingers through it best I could. Tad held out my light blue half cloak, and tied the string bit for me as I cuddled into its usual worn but familiar warmth. Bein' out of the hay bed chilled me to the bone, even with my smock and apron on, but Tad's hand was warm in mine as he pushed open the massive barn door. Will was sitting on a large cart filled with sacks of grain for ale, swinging one of his legs with the other tucked under him. His mop of hair was in his eyes as well, covering his forehead.

"Ah, ya finished?" he smirked ear to ear and I felt my ears burn like fire. Tad was suddenly chuckling loudly, a deep rumbling laugh that even started me. "Bob's yer uncle, Taddie m'lad. Surprised meself ya didn't swallow each oth'r last night. Hada sleep out in the wagon, I did."

"I'm sorry, little _deartháir. _I'll make it up ta ya, I swear. Might ya have th' time?"

"Round ten bells in the mornin', if I hada guess. Ain't ya a buffer now, Tad?" he laughed and rubbed his palms on his kneecaps. He was a sly little eejit, he was.

"Nah, I'm gonna be back. Gotta take the lady back to Inistioge. Tell Dag I'll be back by nightfall."

"He's got a horse waitin' fer ya back at the site. Told me ta tell ya that last night." He hiccups. "Shite, guess I fergot."

"S'alright, Will." He reached into his pocket and tossed him a silver coin. Will was still obviously plastered from last night, and his eyes followed it as it dropped between two sacks of grain he was sittin' on before his sluggish hands could follow. "Ya take carea yerself and get a good kip, will ya?"

Will waved lazily as he searched for the silver coin as Tad linked our fingers again and pulled me closer. "He buckled often?"

"Whiskey don't sit wi' the younger ones well, 'specially when they drink barrels dry like Will. He'll eventually learn, I 'spose." He said as we went down a slight incline to the site where the party had been held. I was surprised we made it up such a hill, gargled as we were. I was also surprised to see that there were so many people still around at the party site. There were still white cloth tents set up, flappin' in the mornin' breeze, and the sound of laughter rang out through the damp trees that blew moisture in our direction.

"Why are there still so many people here?" I asked as we passed a packed wagon that had a tired-looking old mule set to pull, a man loading a chest full of bottled whiskey into the back of it.

"Buffers." Tad explained. "Nomadic travelers, they entertain at parties and such. Just live here for a while, then move on. Make a livin' this way. Dag an' other people employ 'em fer the time bein', till they can get off their asses and do some real workin'." He chuckled and swung me over a pit of mud from the rain that musta happened the night before. I could see my breath in the air, but Tad's hand in mine radiated warmth up into my body like magic.

"They just travel round?" I asked.

"Yep, that's what they do. Surprised they ain't always got the scutters, the way they live. Ain't a life for one, I'll say much as that. It's cat for the children."

I nodded, catching the eyes of an extremely thin woman, who was holdin' a small child. My stomach growled. If my family was goin' hungry, these travelin' families fer sure were too.

"I gotta go an' get the horse." He leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. "How 'bout you wait here?" I nodded and leaned up to kiss him. He chuckled, his warm lips pressing against mine until that sad moment when he let go. "I'll be right back, Gra. We ain't gotta say bye yet, jeez." He chortled again and wove back amongst the tents and wagons, over the grounds where the party was last night. When I was alone, I could hear a group of men laughing in that drunked way, some of 'em yellin', and some singin' drunk songs.

"_They come over here, and they take all our land,_

_They chop off our heads and they boil them in oil._

_Our children are leavin' and we have no heads, _

_We drink and we sing and we drink and we die!"_

I knew the song since I was little. T'was a song Tad taught me, an' my bird voice wasn't too bad, so I joined in under my breath as I got closer to the group of men that were singin' their throats off, laughin' like there was no tomorrow. I stayed a good distance away, because they were a bold group o' men, and I didn't wanna be a chancer. I hovered a good distance under my way as I listened and sang under my breath.

"_We have no heads,_

_No, we have no heads!_

_They come over here, and they chop off our legs, _

_They cut off our hands and put nails in our eyes._

_O'Grady is dead, an' ol' Hanraham's gone,_

_We drink and we die and continue to drink!"_

They laughed loudly and clinked their glasses together crookedly, spilling ale all down the fronts of their dirty shirts. Obviously, this small portion a the party was still goin' on fer them, because they hadn't stopped singin' like canaries, disturbin' the good peace. I giggled into my hand again as they stumbled over the passed out or laughin' bodies on the ground to get to the barrel o' whiskey, refillin' their glasses.

"Bullocks, this 'un's warm. Ge' me 'nother." One of them laughed, shoving his mug under the nozzle.

"Cads, try pullin' yer cacks up. We seen yer crack from miles away, an' thought – "golly, that th' road up there?" another laughed, and the group laughed their heads off as I put my hand over my mouth.

"Cop on, fellas!" another smiled drunkenly, cooked to the bone. "This 'un here's got –" he put his fist on his chest to belch. "A ganger!"

They exploded with laughter and hiccups. Another man stomped, tanked-up, through the white tents. "The meanin' o' this!" he yelled, his dirty shirt fallin' halfway off his broad shoulder. "Ya fools! Which one o' ya back-slapped, razor-backed, ring-pieces slabbed up me ale! Which one o' ya!"

I backed off a little. The man looked huge, and angry, and I didn't want to be a witness t' anything.

"Don' know what yer speakin' o', none o' us touched your gammy gargle, ya git." Muttered the fattest of the men, who I could tell wasn't completely honest.

"That me ale ya drinkin' right there?" the large man pointed his huge finger at the mugs with sloshing yellowy liquid in them.

"'Spose 'tis," another belched and rubbed his ample belly. "Half-nut'n fer this langer pint, boy."

"I oughta give it to ya!" hollered the angry man, knocking a mug out of one's hand. It splattered into the mud as they were on each other, wrestlin' in the mud like two cods over a single coin. The others laughed as the big man beat on the smaller one.

"Ya good-fer-nothin' git! Ya stealin' feck of a man, ya keep yer cacks under control and shove yer hands in yer pockets!" smack, punch, bluff. He beat him in the shoulders.

"Wasn't me! I swear it, t'wasn't!" he yelled, screamin' bloody murder. I was feelin' plain uncomfortable with the two of them combatin' with each other, so I picked up my skirt and spoke up.

"Wasn't!" I yelled, but not a dickie bird. I screamed louder. "It wasn't 'im! Leave 'im alone!"

The most drunk of the men laughed loudly at me. "Do yerself a favor, lady, do a legger 'fore ya get yerself hurted."

"Yer a pack o' liars, an' this man is innocent." I called more persistently. "All o' you got fat heads on you if ya wanna let this man get beaten up on your drum."

They stared at me. "Canky woman…" muttered one of them, and I could tell by his face that he was the guiltiest outa all of them.

"It was you, wasn't it. Ya thought it'd go unnoticed, but it was you." I pointed at him, and he snarled in a bombed way.

"Ya watch who yer blamin', woman." He cracked his knuckles and took a step closer. The others seemed to be a little shocked at my accuracy. I was used to those looks, from years of them from my peers, especially my relations. My brothers and sisters didn't dare try to get away with anything when I was around, and I constantly got in trouble with people, especially authority. "Don't know nothin'."

I jutted my jaw forward. "I know you're lyin' ta save yer own tail."

He pushed up his sleeves and growled at me. "Who ya think ya are, talkin' up ta a man as meself?"

"Men are honest, sir." I said simply, sticking out my jaw.

"Don't get cocky, girl." He said, grabbing me by the shoulder. My heart fluttered like a hummingbird's wings, and I felt my pupils go small as he lifted me off the ground. Jaw clenched, I almost missed it as he swung at me. Luckily, he was still drunk, so I could duck outa the way, but it was too close. He threw me down and the other men started yelling and rioting. I started to cry, though I resented it because I hated to look like a child. Mud splattered in my face and I covered my eyes. I shoulda just kept my mouth shut; this always got me into too much trouble. One of them flipped out a knife.

"Ned, she's only a girl!" yelled another one, trying to grab Ned.

"She's gonna accuse me a theft, then I'll show her a real crime!" he yelled. I knew enough about drunkards to know that judgment was impaired when they were so buckled. I backed away, still sobbing as Ned got closer, and the other men tried to stop him.

Suddenly, a gigantic horse reared up and splattered mud on the group of men, pawing the air at Ned. He dropped his knife in the mud as the angry horse stamped the ground and jumped up, its reins dragged in the muddy water. Tad socked Ned in the face with a closed fist and yelled at the blotto men. "The Quare ya think ya doin', ya packa bastards! Ya stay away from her!" he flipped out his own long knife and shook it at them. "What'd ya think ya'd do, slice 'er open! She's a lady!"

Will hopped outa nowhere and glared. "Ya'd think butter would melt in yer mouths." He pulled me away from them, behind him while Tad's face turned an angry red. "Ye been caught rotten, so fess up."

"More like caught lovely." Muttered the man who'd tried to stop Ned, the one who'd been beaten up in the first place. He seemed grateful to me for savin' his arse.

"Ya shut yer gobs. The meanin' o' this, puttin' a beatin' on my lady. How _dare_ ya lay a hand on her!"

"We was just coddin', boy."

"No, ya wasn't." he shook his knife. "I don't wanna shed any blood. But if you lay a hand on her again, ya gonna wish you was dead." He shoved the knife back into his pocket and Will held tightly to me. Maybe because he was protecting me, or because he had a bit of a crush, but either way, I didn't mind. "I'll put such a hammerin' on ya, ya inards'll be ya outards, and so on. I'd just be glad ta see the back a ya."

Tad grabbed Hayze's reins off the ground and made a clicking noise with his tongue as he pulled him. As he walked by, he took my hand and when we were a good distance away, I threw my arms around him, pressing my head into his shoulder. He squeezed me harder back, wiping my tears. "Don'tcha cry." He comforted.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry Tad. Ya know I can't help it, an' – I was getting' plain uncomfortable, that man was getting' beaten up –" he silenced me with a kiss and Will whistled.

"I ain't mad, Gra. They're a buncha dosses, an' I'm surprised if they won't be effin' and blindin' when their time comes. They're liars, and thieves, and none o' them deserve mercy." He hugged me so my chin pressed against his shoulder. "Ya just gotta be – careful, around them. Ya could get seriously hurt from a buncha drunkards like that."

I wiped my face and put one hand on Will's shoulder. "You're a brave man, Will. Thank you."

He blushed. "Aw, nothin'."

I leaned up to kiss his cheek, and I felt it was hot with blush. "Ya keep an eye on Tad fer me, when he's here."

"Course," he grinned, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I'll see ya a lil later, Will." Tad said, climbing onto Hayze and pulling me up behind him. "Ya tell Dag I'll be workin' overtime."

"Will do," he patted the gray horse's flank. "Ya take care now, Miss Maggie."

I patted his moppy head from atop the steed and smiled. "A god man y'rself, Will." Wrapping my arms around Tad's torso, he kicked the horse and it whinnied and reared before it trotted off on the footpath back to home. It was cold, but my cheek pressed against Tad's warm back was enough to make warmth radiate throughout my entire body. I was going to miss him. So much. I did every time he left, but now more than ever. My heart clouded with sadness as the horse trotted on, realizing that it would feel like an eternity before I'd see him again.

He slowed the horse to a walk after a while, and I could tell he was savoring time; keepin' me for as long as he could. "I didn't thank ya." I said, and he turned in the seat of the saddle to look at me.

"Fer what?"

"For my birthday present. Thank you for takin' me to a party."

He laughed. "T'was nothin'. Glad to give ya a present ya will remember forever."

"Of course I will." I whispered into his neck. "Thank you, Tad."

"Happy birthday." He said softly, taking my hand and pulling it forward so it wrapped around his stomach. I sighed deeply and closed my eyes, trying to just feel the sway of the horse under me, my arms around him. I would make this last. "I'll try ta come see ya as much as I can."

"I know. I'll wait for ya."

He chuckled. "I know ya will. I have one more present for ya."

"Do ya, now? What?" he laughed, and dug laboriously into his pocket until he came up with a bit of silver in his hand. The horse leisurely continued to walk, so he pulled it to a stop.

"I made this for ya. A long time ago. I planned ta give it to ya, but – I couldn't muster up the courage. I didn't know how ta – ya know. Give ya a present. But here it is now. Happy birthday." He handed me a small parsel wrapped in a smudged bit of cloth, rough like tarp in my hand. He slid off Hayze and looked at the ground while I opened the package, revealing a shimmering bit of metal; probably silver, if I had ta guess. The thin chain clinked against the coin-sized bit of metal as I held it up. About the size of the spout of a bottle, the bit of circular silver was etched in so the face of a lady was raised up in the middle. I could make out her features well; she was beautiful, and had a slight smile to her cast-iron lips, her hair put up in the back.

"Oh, God." I spoke softly, holdin' it up in the palm of my hand. It didn't seem to fit with the backdrop of my skin; much too beautiful. "Did ya make this, Taddie?"

"'Course I did. Dag's a skilled man. He's taught me many a thing in a short time." He gently slipped his hand onto my leg and pressed gently for my approval. "Do ya like it?"

"O-of course I do. Who wouldn't? Who is this?" I said, still gobsmacked at his craftsmanship after such a short while in his apprenticeship.

"Don't really know… pretty though, in't she?" he rubbed my leg and slid me down from the horse. "Here, lemme put it on ya." Tad brushed my hair to one side while holding the necklace out in front of me, letting it rest against my collarbone and fastening the clasp he must've fashioned. I wrapped my hand around it, warming it from the cold air.

"It's a jiff, Tad. I'll wear it forever." I leaned up and pressed my lips to his sorrowfully for a moment. They had a certain sadness to them as well, and he held me in his embrace until I couldn't breathe any longer. I sighed heavily and pressed my head to his shoulder for the longest time, using him as a shield for the afternoon gale that was blowing in. I tried not to let the tears stream down my cheeks, but I couldn't help it. I didn't want to go back to my family; yellin' little ones, and my mother. Da wasn't so bad, but I never really saw him. He was just a shadow.

"Don't cry." He put his hand on my back, feeling my shaking sobs through my shoulders. "If I'da known a birthday present would make ya cry, I wouldn'ta given ya a thing."

"It's you that's makin' me cry." I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. "I wish you still lived close."

"Aw… ya know it ain't that far away… if ya need me, I'll be right there." He play punched me on the shoulder, but I wasn't feelin' any better. "Ya know I'll always be there."

"I know." I sighed and pressed my palm to his chest. "Well, knight in shinin' armor, I 'spose ya should take me home now."

He grinned. "Course, me beautiful lady." He swung me back up onto the horse and walked it for a while, talkin' and talkin' away about what it was gonna be like when he was a well-known blacksmith, and he could make the prettiest silver rings, and necklaces, and even horseshoes. He rabbited on an' on about how our life would be, how he was gonna bring me back to Cork and we could get married someday, when we were ready. Then we talked about children. "How many ya want?" he asked me, scratching the back of his head.

"Not six, I'll tell ya that." I grinned and rubbed my grumbling stomach. "How many would ya take?"

"Many as ya gave me, Quare knows they're all gonna have the devil's hair." He teased, and I pouted. "But we should start plannin' now. 'Cause I'm never gonna love another girl other than you, Mag."

"Yes ya will. She'll be about half as tall as ya, and she'll call ya 'Father'." I smiled and he grinned back, showing his well-kept but slightly crooked teeth and bottom jaw that was just slightly but noticeably unaligned.

"I love ya, girl." He said, almost a proudness to his voice. "Once I get outa this rut, I'm gon' make us a life."

"I trust ya." I crossed my heart with my right hand and put my other on his shoulder as he lead the horse. "'Ith all m' heart, Taddie."

He grinned, climbing back up onto the saddle so he could hold me again. He did the whole way until we got to the village that I called my own. He let go of me and dismounted Hayze again to walk 'im through the slushy, muddy streets. The roads were black with people, a mingin' smell to the air. Like rottin' fish, but that was average by th' end of winter season. My house was on the brink of town, or tenant farm just outside of a manor. He stopped the horse on the hill a ways away from my home – by the sun, I could tell it was probably round twelve bells; just in time t' be home. I took a deep breath and sighed heavily as tad helped me down, my ankles smacking the ground and soaking up the shock of the hard surface on my legs that had just about fallen asleep.

"Well, Mag," he said, takin' my face in his rough, big hands. "When I visit again, I'll be even better at smithin'. An' maybe I'll take ya fer longer, aye?"

I leaned up on my tiptoes and grinned while kissin' him. His lips moved against mine like a hot iron, pressing in deeply for a moment and decompressing, pulling away in soft but not too swift motions as we kissed. My lips followed to his neck, nose pressed against it while I kissed his pulse. I felt his hands slide down my waist, a shudder goin' through my body like the cold wind. I wished this could last just a little longer, but I knew he hada go. If I had it my way, I'd stay with him. Live in his little barn loft, even if Will had to live in the loft above our heads. I liked the boy, he was friendly enough. But I couldn't live in Cork with 'im. Not now. But at least I knew he was in good hands now. Dag would take care o' him, and I knew where ta find 'im.

"Mind yerself, lass." He leaned down and kissed the silver lady necklace he gave me. "An' when ya miss me, know this here lady is watchin' over ya. A'right?"

_"Ta gra agum duit." _I smiled out of the corner of my mouth as I often did and legged away from him, down the path towards my house. I heard call "Happy birthday!" as I ran off, my shoes scufflin' on the cobble stone like a scutterin' child. Swingin' open the cast iron and wood door, I shoved myself into the warm sittin' room and slid down my back on the door, smiling wildly. Ma was in the kitchen, chopping something up.

"Child, what's taken ya so long? Ya coulda been ta Cork and back three times by now!" she scolded, but there was a tired patience to her voice.

"Sorry." I apologized, entering the small hoveled kitchen. She was chopping up a few meager potatoes and swearin' under her breath. Each time she cut the roots off one a them, there was a dry-rotted flesh, and a green coating. "I should help."

"Throw these out to the hogs." She muttered, shoving the lot a bad potatoes at me. I scooped them up in my palms and looked up at her confusedly. "No good…"

"What do ya mean?"

"None a the crop's good." She muttered, her skirts sweepin' on the floor as she exited sourly.

My village was declining by springtime. Mud puddles and ditches were filled to the brim, it had been bucketin' rain fer the past few weeks. Crop failed. The farrow fields were bein' plowed to try an' plot extra land for a single potato crop that could somehow feed the village. Inistioge wasn't the only village that the blight had struck. Word came from all around that the blight was spreadin' fifty miles a _week_, and there would be no potatoes left by the end of the season. All o' them were infected. The diseased potatoes were inedible; we got so desperate one night that I found Tim trying to force the rotted crop into his wretched body. He spit it out on the floor, tears streamin' down his dumb cheeks, begging for just a little more. I knew it was bad. Especially when I went into town.

Town was the worst. Not only were people in the countryside like my family sufferin', but town was full of beggars. Children in rags saturated in mud, not a strip of clothing on their back besides those scraps; holding out their hands and crying as their mothers softly tried to shush them. They were desperate, we all were. The blight was attacking us hard. People were eating things like roadside weeds. Children were drinking from cups of muddy water and were emaciated beyond belief. I never saw a sight so terrible until the bodies were piled up. Frozen from cold nights of working through the chilly air to somehow save their potato crop, bodies upon bodies were stacked in the town square for the police to inspect. I wanted ta look away, but I couldn't. I knew some o' the people that they were tossing around like rags; Alana, Sorcha's dear friend. Her body lay amongst others that had been infested by disease or had just happened to starve quicker. Rats crawled on the bodies; the rotten potato fields attracted more an' more of the filthy vermin, which brought the disease. Spotted and yellowed, if they were freshly dead, the bodies were enough to make one nauseated. Bits n' pieces nibbled out of their hard skin, the filthy animals curlin' up on their bodies. A child's hand here an' there, stickin' out amongst the pile, it was all that was left.

Starving, exhausted people weren't able ta clean their homes, bedding, an' themselves. They let the wind trickle in, mud splatter their windows, and their bodies go ta waste. Unclean bodies wandered the square, most looking away from the pile of bodies that wasn't gettin' any smaller; wonderin' if the Devil would take them next. More people I saw in the streets every day began to show up in the body line up along the streets the next day I would come into town. Disease was weakenin' us even more than the starvation. Ya could tell which ones were sick; almost radiatin' their warmth, and had a spotty complexion. People wandered around in nothin' but ruins o' clothes, and I could see their shoulder blades, ribs, distended stomachs from hunger.

"Keep your hand in mine, an' I mean it." I whispered to Emily upon approaching town again. I had to go every three days to pick up the small bit of grain we were allotted from our own crop. It angered me that they had the neck to sit around and watch Ireland starve while they sent the majority of our home-grown crops off to England where they would be a sack a muppets, drinkin' their tea and havin' our flour. I'd looked at my own self in the mirror. I was dirty. No doubt, we all were, an' we all had our own smell. There was a brownish-green line on my neck, behind my ears. I hadn't had a good washin' in days. An' the hunger. Oh, the hunger. I knew what it felt like ta go hungry. I'd been used to it me entire life, but this was different. Da wasn't makin' a dime, an' we had nothin' to barter for the small bit a food someone had to offer. So, the lord demanded that we pool supplies together, and each family would get a portion every few days. But my stomach ached from the bottom up, trying to remember the taste of food to get by. I cried at night, in pain and holding my stomach for lack of something else to do. Ever sucked on anything he could find to satisfy his quest for food. Ma was busy keepin' the hogs and few head of cattle we had alive, so Tim an' I were incharge of Emily and Ever. Sheelin helped mother as much as she could, but she was always a weak child, and didn't keep up with Timothy or me.

"I wanna go home," whined me git of a little sister, her small bare feet dancing around the large mud slashes made in what was called the "road" when it was dry. "Maggie, I wanna go home!"

"Shut yer gob an' keep up!" I screeched, discouraged and tired o' her complainin'. What was there to complain about when we were still _alive? _I was mighty surprised by that matter, too. Most of the peasants were the first to go. So many people I knew had died, and I hadn't heard from Tad in weeks. I didn't want to worry, because I already had a full plate, but I couldn't help it. Everyone was in rag-order, and I'd never felt so burdened.

"Ya'd think people would get a smart head on 'em an' get outa town." Muttered Tim, who was carryin' our little brother Ever, just three now. He sucked on his fingers like they were food; he did that a lot now. "Better out in the countryside, not so much – disease."

I slid in the mud and nearly pulled Em down with me. My shoes were literally fallin' apart. Caked full o' mud and barely even accountable as shoes, most peasants didn't even have anything left fer shoes. Emily and Ever went barefoot. Tim did as well. "Can't get away from it, Tim. No way." I stopped outside the depot where we were to get our grain – Indian corn that was ground into a mealy substance that tasted like grits and stones to the teeth, but was better than nothin'. Ever slid down his waist and I made sure he an' Emily were holdin' hands. They never went in with Tim an' I. Too black in there fer the little ones, and bein' on Shank's mare all the time, they needed more rest, and the most amount of food. "Ya two stay here, are ya listenin'? Emily McAuleey, hold onta yer little brother's hand. Don't leave this spot." I demanded, and the raggedy child nodded, her blue eyes watery and sunken in. Their clothes were factually pieces of cloth tied together to at least cover most a their bodies. The hem of my skirt was raggedy and the leather stay-smock I wore overtop of it was peeling and torn. The smock was jaggedy at the edges; the cloth tyin' back my hair was dirty from my hairline. It didn't matter anymore, I didn't care 'bout bein' clean. I cared about these hunger pains, the joint aches, and the cries from my little brother and sisters.

Tim and I retrieved the meager sack of grain we were allotted for the next few days and thanked the man that wasn't in much better a skin than we were. Tim's lanky body was definitely thinner; all bones showin', and he was usin' a stray bit a rope to hold up his cacks that hung muddy at his ankles, shabby and uneven. His hair greased to his forehead, covered in a dry layer of silt. I returned to the spot where I told the two young ones to stay, but they had gone. "Em? Ev!" called Tim stoutly, but no answer. I crossed the street on tired, rickety legs and found the two of 'em beggin' with a pair of other children. I grabbed Em by the back of her tatty shirt and pulled her in front a me.

"What the Quare do ya think you're doin'?" I hissed in the loudest voice I could muster on this amount of energy. I sorta went spare on her, makin' a quiet scene as tears began to stream down her face, leavin' crystal trails on her clean face. "Ya toe-rag girl, ya wanna get turfed out?! What's yer craic!"

"I'm hungry!" she cried. Ever started up weepin' too, but Tim picked his filthy body up and shushed him. I let her bury her face in my neck and glared at Tim.

"We're just gonna waste away now, aren't we just…" I bit my lower lip and hugged the girl. "Ya aren't a beggar, Emily. None o' us are, we _aren't beggars."_

"Feck, put a _cork_ in it, Maggie. We _are_ beggars. Ya seen the dead! Ya seen 'um, lined up on the streets like a rally. Bodies everywhere, an' it isn't just Inistioge! It's Ireland in general! Shite, girl! Look at this mess we're in! The McAuleeys are lined up fer next!"

"Don'tcha say that!" I grabbed his ragged collar and shoved him. "We aren't! We're gonna make it through this, an' – an' –" I stuttered, feeling my eyes start to water. "We will…"

"Ireland isn't safe." He muttered. "Better bet headin' over ta America where there's a dab ta eat."

I looked up. "America?"

He scuffed his blackened bare foot. "Haven't ya heard about the ships headin' over?"

I had. Many emigratin' to places where it was safe. "Yeah…"

Tim didn't say anything else, but instead was silent for once on the way home. Emily ran to Mother and held tightly to her leg. The look on Ma's face. Oh. Desperate. I never liked Ma much, but Da… he was worse. He knew we weren't gonna make it here much longer. I refused to believe we were beggars, what was right in fronta my own eyes. I spent most of my time now tending to my grandparents. They were my mother's parents, two frail elders who were struggling for survival as well. When they came, what were Ma and Da to say? Ya can't stay here? They were weak, infirm, and already wasting away. I took them hot tea. Sat with them. Told them about how the town looked. They were friendlier than Ma ever was. Sweet an' kind ta me. My grandparents knew of my gift, and never called me "Devil Child" like most people did. They weren't uncomfortable around me, for they were generally honest people to begin. No matter what my mother said, she could not steer them the wrong way about me. I enjoyed their company, though I knew it wouldn't last much longer.

Once on the way ta town alone to get our share of grain that seemed to get smaller and smaller every few days, I was walking the normal path barefooted. The stones were cold and wet, the air dark and foggy like there was a pressure on the entire atmosphere. My dress hung in tatters above my ankles, uneven and jagged, my hair pulled back off to one shoulder because there was nothing else to do with it. My shoes weren't even worth wearing anymore; they were more painful than no shoes, and I got horrible blisters from the wet and worth leather wearing against my heels. I walked slowly, sometimes just trudging straight through the mud; it didn't matter how dirty I was, I might as well not waist the energy going around the large puddles. When I got to town, there were two small children wandering alone, which was queer because children at least usually had an adult with them when they begged.

"Where are you going?" I asked them in my sweetest voice. One o' them was just big enough to toddle, and the other was probably about five or six, a small girl.

"Our father won't talk to us." Said the little girl sadly. "Will you try to talk to him?"

I sighed. "Where do ya live?"

"Up there." She pointed up the road. "Our Ma, she's dead an' gone 'way. She starved, Daddy said. An' we never saw her 'gain." I picked up the grubby little boy who had tear streaks on his face.

"Why won't your Da talk to ya?" I asked, wondering if it was because he was depressed from his wife passin'.

"I donno, miss. He sits in his chair fer four days… he won't talk ta me, an' he won't move. He stares forward all day, an' he's cold as stone."

I stopped in my tracks and stared at the little girl who was so innocent. So thin with her stomach pushed out from hunger and wearing rags that were falling off one side of her. I took her hand, still holding the toddler in my arms and walked them into town. I had nothing to give them, but I kneeled down beside the girl. "Ya look at me… what's yer name?"

"Roison." She whispered as I rubbed up and down her shoulder.

"Roison… that's a beautiful name. Yer Da, he – he probably isn't gonna talk to ya anymore, alright?"

"Why not?"

I took a deep breath. "I think he's with yer Mama now."

She looked thoughtful. "What do we do?" Roison hugged me for a long time, and I held 'er close to me like she was my own.

"Ya stay here. Listen ta me, Roison… every day, ya go in here," I pointed to the small depot office. "An' ya ask the man fer grain. He'll give ya some. Alright?"

She nodded. "Will ya come back, miss?"

"I'll be back when my grain runs out."

When I returned, their bodies were amongst the other dead lined up on the footpath, muddy, mangy, an' full o' disease. Cold. Thin, and filthy.

Days grew longer and longer, and the pains became more frequent. I knew our family was starvin'. The whole world was, it seemed. At least my whole world. As more an more Irish folk decided to chance the arm and out the gap to the great America, even peasants scrounged up the shillin's worth to make the trip.

I sobbed when my father told me I was to stay here. "How can ya leave me like this? Ya dirty bunch a muckers! Cats!" I called, sobbing into the hay mattress as my sisters and brothers gathered. "Ya leave me here ta starve! Oh!" I tortured myself with the pain of cryin', but I couldn't help it. I'd held it in fer so long that I had to now. My frame ached like no other, under my ribs burning with pain as I gasped in an' out. They made no effort to comfort me. Even Da had become uncomfortable with my gift. It got me into so much trouble, even he couldn't find the love for me anymore. I knew they were lyin' the second I looked at their faces. All softened, and Tim's eager look like he wanted me to attack. Like pokin' the bear with a stick, if I had enough energy I'd be the bear.

"Who else will take care o' yer grandparents…" my father muttered.

"T – tim! He's the oldest!" I cried harder into my elbow, now moaning from the pain of it. I was already exhausted to begin with. "What about Fithial! Sara!"

"They're already off ta America…" Tim said matter-o'-factly.

"Shut yer dirty crape!" I yelled. "Ya leave me here! Ya leave me here, an' I'm already dyin'!"

I settled a while after they tried to talk some reason into me. I finally decided that this must be my punishment from God, for always pointin' out people's lies. Maybe they were meant to be left undetected. For once I shoulda just kept my gob shut, buttoned it, covered my mouth. Maybe I shoulda paid more attention in school, and maybe I shoulda made my parents proud. Within a week, they were startin' their journey off to the docks; next off ta America with new hope. I knew the real reason. They were uneasy around me. Found me guilty of trickery, and the Devil's work.

I didn't wonder where my family was. I didn't really have the time to care; most of my time was spent taking care of my feeble elders and digging potatoes out of the gloppy mud out in the small garden in the yard. Each time I had hope; sticking my hand in the grimy pit of muck to pluck the wilting stalk from the hole. Black, spotted on the outside and gammy on the inside; slimy and disintegrating in my hand as I squeezed with my muddy fingertips. Disappointment disagreed with the pain in my stomach, back, and hips. A solid ache that sat in the pit of my stomach like I had swallowed an iron. The crop was the same throughout all of Ireland. Not a man's field survived; and I was stuck tending my own dying yard, exhausted and starving. I stuck the spade in the mud and hobbled inside.

That night, I fell into a restless sleep on the hay mattress, curled in my small blanket. The smartin' in the ditch of my stomach caused major discomfort as I cried myself to sleep, my knees to my tummy. I dreamed that I was curled on the ground, rain fallin' round me. I felt the breath leave my chest, and the wind carry my purple spirit up to a feast in heaven. I ate at a table alone, never seeing Christ, but I knew I had no reason to be frightened. I wasn't in pain. I was safe. I wished it would never end.

_Wham. Wham. Wham, wham, wham!_ Woke me up. My eyes slowly peeled open and I scrunched up my toes at the pain still in my stomach and now my back. _Wham, wham!_ More knockbacks came, and I groaned, pulling myself out of bed. "Ya gonna wake…" I held my head as I wobbled, feeling the strange dizziness in my head that came with hunger. "me grandparents…" I dragged to the large iron and wooden door, pulling it open with all of my strength. Strong arms wrapped tightly around me, almost to the point that it was hurtin' me, but I let out a squeal of agony and hugged Tad with strength I didn't know I had.

"Quare One, get inside." He demanded, concern in his thick accent. His hair was wet and pulled back with a piece of leather, he was a'drippin' from the steady rain outside.

"Haven't seen ya in Zonks." I muttered, my eyes flutterin' closed for a moment as he yanked me inside out a the cold. I shivered, trying to keep warm. "Tad, oh, Tad."

"Where's ever'one?" he asked, a huff in his breath like he'd run here. I could see a horse tied outside though, not Hayze, but a larger brown steed. He musta ran to the front step.

"They're gone." I breathed as he all but held me up. My legs were pretty shaky, and I didn't know if I could stand for much longer if he didn't have his arms around me. "They left, ta America."

"Without ya?" he asked in disbelief. I nodded once and led him inside. Rain water was leaking through the thatch roof in some places, plinking into the pots and pans I half-heartedly shoved under the leaks. It had been at least two months since I'd seen Tad. There wasn't even time to think about him. My family was desperately starving, along with me, and I didn't have much time for anything other than taking care of my grandmother and grandfather like I was expected to all along.

"Yes." I whispered as his thumbs gently rubbed circles on my waist. I groaned and leaned into him; if there was one more thing I knew I would always have, it was him. I didn't care if he was wet, or if my home was freezing and inadequate. I pressed my cheek as hard as I could to his chest, feeling his muscles move under his shirt and press softly against the fabric as he breathed raggedly. His breath almost froze in the air, even inside, and his boots left trails of mud on the dusty wooden floor.

_"Dhia,_ Gra." He wrapped me in his warmth. "I – I shoulda come sooner, I says to Dag – Maggie, I love her… I love her so much it hurts me heart ta be away, an' he says 'Ya in love boy, no wonder ye mess up the metal,' an' we had a good laugh. An' I heard 'bout how bad thing were gettin', an' things started ta get bad with Dag. Older folk an' children waste away faster an' faster… dropped to the floor starvin', he did. He died right there on th' floor, an' Will an' I didn't know whata do." He spoke a million miles a minute, but I sobbed into his tweed jacket.

"I'm sorry, Tad… I', sorry 'bout Dag."

"No matter. He was a good ol' man, and he'd had his penny's worth o' life. Will an' I, we took over fer 'im. Will's a skilled one, though wee, an' we didn't have mucha problem. Things got worse an' worse." He muttered as I led him to a kitchen chair, making him sit down.

"Yer tired…" I said, running my fingers backwards through his wet, thick hair that dripped onto his collar. "Yer cold, an' yer…"

"Hungry…" he whispered, his hand sliding onta my waste and his fingers sliding in a comforting motion. "We're all hungry… Ireland's hungry…"

"Shhh…" I whispered, leaning down so my lips were against his. I kissed him fer the first time in months. It was soft and abrupt and we pulled away with a soft quick smacking noise, but I slid into his lap.

"Look atcha." He said softly, his hand smoothing over my stomach. My rags for clothes hung off me and weren't tight enough ta my skin anymore. I could feel my shoulder bones touch when I moved and my spine rubbed against my skin. Long, thin fingers I called my own, and knobby knees and elbows. "Ya wastin' away, aren't ya Mag…"

I put my hand over my mouth to keep from crying. "Do ya… do ya feel the pain… the hunger pain…" I asked slowly.

"Yeah." He nodded once and nuzzled his forehead to my shoulder. "You're freezin', girl."

"I'll start a fire." I said, nodding towards the cold and empty stone fireplace and getting off his lap. "First let me check on my grandparents."

"I'll start the fire. Ya go an' check on 'em." He kissed my cheek and went to find a few dry logs from the porch. My grandfather and grandmother were sleepin' restlessly. I didn't blame them. They were already old and feeble before, an' I didn't have anything to offer them to eat. All I felt like doin' these days was givin' up and hopelessly sleepin'. That's sorta the resort they'd taken a long time ago, ta sleep it out. I wished I could, but I had reasons not to; I would keep digging up the rotten potato crop in hopes of finding just one in twenty that would keep me alive for one more day. That's what I did every day. Dug up slimy, spotted potatoes in hope of finding just one to split three ways. I always wished I could eat the whole thing, but my grandparents were important to me; family always was.

"They're sleepin'." I said, coming back in the room to find Tad heating his hands while trying at the same time to keep the fire going. He stood up and took me in his arms again. "Tad…"

"Hmm…"

"Why'd ya come back…"

"Why wouldn't I… you're my girl."

I bit my lower lip. "There are riots goin' on in towns all over."

"Cork too… Yanks and Brits tryin' ta contain the lota them, shootin' shots inta the crowds ta try an' scare 'em… don't they know nothin' scares Irishmen?" he said as he led me to the bed I used to share with my sisters Emily and Sheelin but I now had to myself. He pulled back the damp quilt and tucked me in, sliding in next to me. My bare feet were freezing, and I was sure I didn't look my best. My stomach was much past growling. It stung and felt like someone stabbed me each time I felt my body failing. "Painted on doors… FOOD OR BLOOD. People get serious when they're starvin', especially on a mass scale…"

I curled up with my head against his chest. "Shhh… I'm cold, keep me warm." He obliged, curling around me and I could feel his hot breath on my neck. Chills cradled my body instead of warmth; I didn't have anything on me to keep me warm. I could feel from the last time I snuggled close to Tad that he'd changed too. He was peaking during that time, his shoulders broadening and becoming more of a man in stature, but now he felt as if his skin hung off of him sadly. "Do ya still make necklaces…" I whispered, clutching my hand around the cold chain around my neck.

"No…" he whispered, his voice hoarse and dry as he stroked his long fingers over my messy, dirty red hair. "Will an' me… we started makin' coffins… buildin' 'em outa wood… people droppin' like flies, from th' fever, plain starvin'. Barely alive, Mag. An' we build coffins, sit there an' nail in nails… lotsa tike-sized coffins. A woman came in wi' nothin' ta her name… beggin' me fer a coffin, holdin' her head baby girl in her arms… I hada make her one."

I touched his scruffy cheek. "Taddie…"

He nuzzled to my neck. "Imma take ya with me. Ain't leavin' ya here." I could tell his decision was pretty final. I shook my head.

"I got a responsibility. I gotta take care o' my grandparents." I demanded throatily. I would argue the point for hours, until I died if that was what it took. Before I could get up and argue, he shushed me and pushed me back down. My entire body was aching, and I wasn't sure I could get up anyway.

"I understand… Maggie… I went back to me house 'fore I came here. Lookin' fer me fam'ly. An' they were stacked outside, I – I rushed here, thinkin' ya'd be in th' back too…_ naíonán, _ya had me scared. An' I thought ya'd be gone jus' like 'bout everyone else. Ya listen ta me, Margaret McAuleey. Look me in th' eyes. I will be back fer ya. I promise. I ain't leavin' ya here ta starve. No. Imma be back fer ya. An' yer grandparents, they…"

"They won't make it much longer." I said softly, shaking my head.

"Maggie, listen ta me. Ya can't take much more o' this. Yer – yer skin an' bones. If I'm not here by th' time ya need me, follow the road to Cork. You'll find me."

I kissed him. "I promise. I'll just follow th' road."

I cried weakly when I find my grandmother cold in her bed, and my grandfather followed shortly after. I tried to pull them outa the bed, but I didn't even have the strength to pull the quilts away. I fell to the floor on my knees, my ragged clothes hangin' on me as I sobbed into the floor. Pains stabbed my stomach again. It was past the point a bein' just hungry; my body was goin' into survival mode now. My vision shook, and there was a ringin' in my ears. I had to leave the bodies in their beds as I stumbled to my own, attempting to rest. I couldn't; my eyes kept slipping back open and the pain was too much to take. Suddenly, I was seein' things. Maybe I wasn't, and maybe I was; I didn't know. Misty images formed themselves before my eyes; a knight in shinin' armor, a ghost horse outside my window. I had the sudden impulse to follow them. With my dirty bare feet and mangled body, I gathered my ragged blue half cloak and my fingers dumbly fumbled to tie the tassels around my neck. The horse trotted slowly down the muddy road, but I didn't feel the cold jagged rocks on my feet. The pain was too severe to even feel anymore that I barely felt a thing. It was beyond pain. An icy spring wind blew my hair to the side, pulled back off my forehead with the ragged piece of cloth.

I groaned once and fell to my knees, slumping in a pile at the side of the road. I closed my eyes. I had to go, I had to follow the road. The horse was gone, and I knew I was delirious; past delirious. I closed my eyes again as the chilly wind blew through me. I was too weak to make a sound, but with one more ounce of strength, I curled into the smallest ball I could. There was a strange noise. _Clink. Clink. Clink. _I winked my eyes open but had no strength. I couldn't. _Clink. Clink. Clink. _


	5. Chapter 4

_**Well, another long update, I'm sorry. It's summer now, and I've been working on trying to update all of my stories… I get great ideas and then I write too many stories, haha. I'm deeply sorry. Here is a new chapter to make it better! Thanks for stickin' it out!**_

Four

There was an old story about the death sign in Ireland. A woman was weeping outside her hovel, bent in on herself in the small valley she called a home. She was all alone accept for the sheep she herded. She had no one, for her tiny red-headed daughter had been drowned in the lochs, not a bright hair left o' her. She was wracked with guilt at losin' her only daughter, the only child the Lord gifted her, an' her husband was long past dyin'.

Suddenly, she seemed to hear the sound of low music, and turning around she beheld at some distance a crowd dancin' and makin' merry. The woman grew afraid and turned her head away, rather t' see th' back a them. Then close to her stood a young man, pale an' strange lookin', and she beheld him with fear.

"Who are you?" she said at last. "And why do you stand beside me?"

"You ought to know me," he replied, "for I belong to this place; but make haste now and come away, or evil will befall you."

Then she stood up and was goin' 'way with him, when the crowd left off their dancin' and ran towards 'em crying – "Come back; come back; come back!"

"Don't stop. Don't listen." Said the young man. "But follow me." then they both began to run, and ran on until they reached a hillock. "Now we are safe," said he, "they can't harm us here." and when they stopped he said to her again. "Look me in the face and say if you know me now."

"No," she answered, "you are a stranger to me."

"Look again, look me straight in the face and you will know me."

Then she looked, and knew instantly that he was a man who had drowned a year before in the dark winter time, and th' waves'd never cast his body up onto shore. And she threw up her arms and cried aloud – "Have you news of my child? Have you seen her, my red-haired girl, that was stolen from me this day seven years ago. Will she come back to me never no more?"

"I have seen her," said the pale man, "but she will never come back, never more, for she has eaten of the fairy food and myst now stay with the spirits under the sea, for she belongs to them body and soul. But go home now, for it is late, and evil is near you; and perhaps you will meet her sooner than you think." then as the woman turned her face homeward, the man disappeared and she saw him no more. When at last she reached the threshold of her house a fear and trembling came on her, and she called to her daughter that was now belongin' to th' fairies. The red-haired girl came to stand in the doorway, but the woman could not pass through the doorway. And with that she fell down on the threshold on her face, but spake no word more. And when the ghost child lifted her up, she was dead.

I gasped to a start, coughing on what little liquid was left in my mouth. My hair was pushed back in my face with the rag I'd torn from my apron, and my elbows quivered under me as I struggled to desperately get up.

_Clink. Clink. _I looked up from the ground, rising my chin as far as my weak, tired body would let me. It wasn't far, and I could barely hold myself up. A shadowed figure stood there, and through my blurred vision, I could see wicked chains wound around and around their body, in and out of their skin as if someone punched a hole right through 'em. I blinked a couple times, just to make sure I wasn't goin' mad, though I was Quare near close to it, and Tad stared down upon me. "Tad…" I think I said, but it mighta just as well been a moan comin' from my dry, cracked lips. I felt like I had to empty my stomach, throw it all up, but all I had left inside were intestines.

Tad jingled, the chains wrapped around his arms and body clattering as he offered me a hand. When I touched it, it was cold and hard, encased in metal like he'd stuck his hand in hot silver. If I could make a sound, I would. "Maggie, ya gotta go, girl." He whispered, his breath hot on my face as he pulled me off the ground. "Ain't safe here, ya gotta go."

"Where?" I cried, biting my lower lip. My spine felt like it wasn't there anymore, and Tad laughed. "Y'ain't gonna get _anywhere_ if ya don't stand up."

Confused, I was already standin' up, I looked down and realized I was on the ground again. "Taddie, help me." I begged, trying to lift my arms for him. His chains rattled, _clink, clink, clink, _almost mocking me that I was on the ground and he wasn't. "Help me, Tad!"

He stepped into a patch of light, and I could see that his face was covered in metal too, like a knight, but he wasn't a knight. Was he? I was startin' to forget things. Where was I? Was I in the water? The ground was movin' under me like I was, swayin', like a loch under my body. My cheek hit the soft earth as Tad's chains brushed my body. "Ya at nuthin' if ya think yer gonna get outa this." Tad whispers, and when I looked up, he was gone. It was like he just faded away, leavin' me all alone on this road. It was alright. I knew this was the end, there was no way out of it, but I wasn't gonna be content with dyin'. I would die with my dignity, if there was even any left in me. Body sucked of muscle, clothes fallin' off, and my hair unkempt. Sallow face I hadn't cared to look at in days. I was wrong. There was no dignity in my death.

_Lies, lies, they're all lies. _Whispered my mind, mocking me in my own voice. _Everything you ever knew was a lie. _I swallowed, but there was nothing there. _Your parents lied to you. Your brothers and sisters lied to you. Your friends and your teachers lied to you. Tad lied to you. _

"No…" I whispered. "It isn't true."

I closed my eyes and knew I was goin' into a deep sleep, maybe even forever. This was the last time I would see the world. I wanted to make it last. Make every second o' my last view of the world count. My eyelids slid closed, an' it felt like there were rocks under m' eyelids instead of my own eyes. This didn't even feel like me anymore…

No. Crawl. Gotta crawl. I heaved myself onto my hands and knees ad crawled like the Dickens, my fingers clenching into the muddy sod that was barely covered in any grass. I wobbled, my frame threatening to topple over and roll over into a ditch, but I held onto the ground like it was my center, my sole existence. My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I inched forward, towards Cork, towards _safe._ Towards whatever I thought was out there, whatever I thought was gonna make me okay again. _You. Will. Be. O. K. Again._ I promised. I would be I knew I would be. My arms were so tired, no muscle at all and they ached from the slightest weight, rocking under me like ships on the high seas. Already exhausted by the crawling, I softly wailed and hung my head between my shoulder blades, letting my collarbone cave in like I was already a rotted-away skeleton. I closed my eyes again and let the miniature fireworks display of white and bright yellow go on behind my squeezed eyelids.

Hungry, hungry, so hungry. An' darkness behind my lids. I couldn't make a peep, bust my voice, do anything but lie there an' wait for it all ta go away. I wanted arms around me, I wanted someone there durin' the end. Anythin' but this, please Lord. Please spare me, in any way. Cast me ta Hell, give me the Devil's tail – Quare knows ya already gave me his hair, an' not ta mention his gifts. Do anythin' to let me _live._

_Clink, clink, clink. _I cracked one eye open, still curious in my weak state, if I had any more feelin's other than guilt and sorrow. Fright. Yes, fright. There were two figures moving on the gravely road – I could make them out through my blurred vision, but could not make out details. _Cop on, Maggie… there's no one there, _I thought, blinking my eyes a few solid times before closin' them again. Lettin' th' end come, no matter how slowly. I was done. No! _Clink, clink, clink! _People. There were people. I wasn't imaginin'. No, I wasn't.

Triumphant, I flopped back down again on my back, curling into a ball. I was so freezing, I felt like I could turn right into an icicle right there, fossilize like whatever the archeologists in America dug up. Made me wonder where my family was right now. Pfft. Family. If they were my family, I wouldn't be here right now…

_Voices got closer. Heartbeat in my ears. Feck, it was loud. Bangin' in my ears like an old screamin' banshee. Sweat tricklin' on my neck. How'd it be possible for me ta sweat now? Cold as a glacier, an' I'm sweatin', Lord, I really will rot in Hell. Couldn't feel my fingers… were they there? Count. One, two, three… all ten there. All ten, not a one gone. Can't feel my toes. Counted. Every little git was there. Not a one gone. Not a one. Cold under my arms. Tip of my nose felt like ice. Too weak to keep it warm. Stomach hurt._

The voices were drifting closer, so close that I could make them out. A female voice drifted in and out of th' sound barrier, soft and reminding me of a gale. Not the kind that blew ya over, simply the kind that blew in occasionally from the lochs and left yer face slightly damp. "It's a girl," she spoke, though I didn't know how she could tell from where she was, yards away. For all they could know, I was a withered old man on th' side o' the road, a sunken-in corpse of a once-was. "She is young."

The first, womanly voice was so smooth, mesmerizing and hypnotic in the ways of a slow moving spout of syrup, or honey. The second voice that spoke was hard and unyielding, yet every bit as smooth and riveting as the first. "The heartbeat is erratic and her scent is defiled." He spoke the next words softer. "She is dying."

"Poor, miserable child…" the woman's voice said softly, and I could see her fold her hands around her middle. "We shall put her out of this unnecessary distress. I cannot stand to see her suffer a moment longer."

A trill of fear shot up in my chest. They couldn't _possibly_ mean what I think… no, there is no possible idea in anyone's gammy head, certainly not theirs. I struggled to lift my head, but it was a lost cause. I sank back down onto the damp turf, gasping as new jolts of pain shot through my sore torso that was hallow… so hallow. Nausea threatened. Clutching my pounding head, I waited for the buffers to find me. They did not disappoint. Before I could so much as wonder as who the strangers were, they were over me in only a fraction of a second. How in Hell… impossible.

"Shh, now." Spoke the woman. I looked up from my plank position, falling onto the muddy road with exhaustion. I squinted my eyes to see. Lord and Devil, she was _beautiful. _In my time, I saw many pretty woman, flaunting themselves at drunked men in front o' bars, stealin' lonely men's hearts. But this woman – my _Lord, _she was different. Dusky hair cloaked her face, currents of opaque color circling her face. But that wasn't the only thing about her. A face of porcelain, the kind I never had the privilege to touch before, and high cheekbones rested in her face like small pearls as her cerise lips pulled into a soft, reassuring smile that was to enticing and exciting at the same time. I could not see all of her from this angle, but I could see one thing surely – she was very large. Not like the pudgy shop-keepers that kept a portly watch on the urchins outside their doorsteps. She wasn't thin as a ruler, but she certainly wasn't corpulent. Her curves were impressive, and a beautiful crepe wrap draped her shoulders, and down to the soddy ground was a long skirt lined with dirt at the hemmed edges. Her face was inhuman – in fact, I had never seen someone so beautiful – so un_real._ If she were made of water, she certainly would have moved like a calm brook. I peered into her eyes – they were dark, but there were glints of dark red rimming the irises. No, that couldn't be possible. Red eyes!

The male was just as handsome as the female was beautiful, but he looked much harder. As if he was made out of stone. Dark hair shaded his forehead as well as the woman's, almost as if they could be brother and sister, maybe they were. I guessed they must be in their twenties or so. No older. His eyes were also dark, but with hints of redness.

"We aren't going to hurt you." The soothing tone exited the woman's mouth, and the feeling inside of me almost immediately started tingling. Like bells inside my head.

"Yes ya are." I croaked with all my might, though God knew I wasn't scarin' anyone. The other two on the road to Cork were so much more imposing, if I even was at all.

"No we aren't. We aren't going to hurt you at all." insisted the woman, her long, dark lashes brushing her ceramic cheeks.

Bells. The tugging in the pit of my stomach. "Yes ya are. You're gonna kill me."

A faint look of what must have been surprise crossed her face, and I wondered what it was that made her so silent for th' moment. The male rolled his dark eyes over to her, clenching his knuckles and just as silent as she for a moment.

"Who are you?" I demanded, staring up from the ground. "Do you live in Inistioge?"

They exchanged glances. They were mostly inscrutable, but looked – faintly amused. Some form of anger bubbled up in me – were they takin' me seriously at _all?_ "Yes. We do."

"No you don't." I insisted, biting my lower lip at the concentration of stayin' somewhat propped on my elbow right now. There was something about all of this that didn't seem right, not righter than a horse with his arse side forwards and his head side backwards.

"How do you know?" inquired the female. Something that resembled inquisitiveness shone in her dark eyes that I could not make out in this dim light. Looking away from her, I said nothing. "If you knew in the first place, why did you ask us?"

I declined to answer. I had already lost my dignity, sprawled on the ground and so close to death, most likely crawling with disease and vermin, my intestines shrunk from lack of nutrition.

"What is your name?" she requested. I was beginning to think the man was mute in my conscious company. I was silent again. Didn't know if I simply couldn't find my voice, if I could talk at all anymore.

The woman offered, "My name is Eve."

My sixth sense tingled in the pit of my stomach. "You lie." Busted outa my mouth 'fore I could prevent it.

Her dark eyebrows furrowed together. "My name is Brianna." She corrected herself.

"Yer lyin'."

Even more amusement crossed her face. "My name is Caitlin."

"Lie."

"My name is Cassidy."

"Lie."

"My name is Clodagh."

"Lie."

"His name is Ross."

"Lie."

"His name is Aedan."

I shook my head weakly. The woman paused slightly as if ponderin'.

"My name is Siobhan."

Just as I was 'bout to spout of the popular-heard 'lie', I didn't feel the bells in my head, the tuggin' in my stomach. No sixth sense. "Yes. Truth."

"His name is Liam." She gestured to the hard-faced man who was brooding at me as well.

"Truth." I whispered softly.

"I have met a man named Carlisle." She stated.

"Truth."

"Liam is my brother."

Tingle. "Lie."

"Liam is my mate." She corrected herself. There was no tingle, so I did not proclaim it a lie.

"My mother's name maiden name was Gowen."

"Truth." I muttered, now slightly jaded.

"I had a sister. Her name was Ellen."

I blinked a few times, feeling pains in my body, but no tingles. "Lie."

"Her name was Grace."

"Lie."

"I didn't have a sister."

"Truth."

"I was born in 1490." She finally said, her long black hair circling around her head in a musty wind current. I waited for the tingling sensation, but felt nothing. No, that couldn't be so! Not possible! Not possible!

"That's impossible." I croaked, and then stared up at them again. Skin white as alabaster, like china dolls. Blemishless, and free of flaws. Dark eyes. Sinister eyes. "You're – immortal." I hissed, curling in on myself and groaning at the smarting of my entire body.

There was no mistakin' the surprise that waxed over both of their faces at that, and Siobhan turned to Liam, who was skulkin' but still near to her. Like he was attached by an invisible rope around her waist. "Liam… it appears that the child has a talent."

Liam nodded once but disregarded, as if he didn't have a problem killing me after all. How did immortals kill? Why did they kill? Were they banshees? Fairy warriors that Tim used to scare me about all the time when we were kids? What were they gonna do to me? _Lord help me._

"My name's Maggie." I said into the crook of my arm. I was lyin' on the cold, hard ground again, my chin pressed into the tattered sleeve of my smock 'cause it was all I could do to somewhat stay up. I donno why I suddenly blurted out my name, maybe to humanize me. After all, Siobhan had said she was going to put me out of my misery a moment ago.

"Maggie." My name was soft on Siobhan's cherry-crimson lips as she smoothed her hands over her ample hips. Everything in that voice was absolutely breathtaking. "You are very talented."

Ma woulda yelled at me if I didn't thank her for the odd compliment, but I was much too weak. No one ever called my lyin' curse a talent before, never in my life. I lay very still, trying ta get breath in my sullied lungs that felt like they were fulla sand. If these people were indeed gonna kill me, they'd better do it quick 'fore my light went out on them. I could see my fingertips were turnin' a shade of blue, like the color o' the sky on an oddly, scarcely seem clear day, and my skin was grimy and covered in dirt from lack of washing. I wouldn't die a pretty girl, but I knew I never really was one.

I looked up when Siobhan kneeled down so she could speak directly to me – well, what was left of degradin' me. "Maggie… I think you're going to come with us." Her accent was thick, soft and old and nothin' like the people I heard speak in Inistioge. It was slightly broken, though flawed at the same time if it was even possible, and her words were effortlessly perfect.

"Where? Are you gonna kill me? You're not gonna do it here, then?" I spoke softly, wishin' they'd just get it over with right here.

To my surprise, I felt Siobhan's cool fingers on my dirty forehead as if she were checking my temperature. I must be burnin' up past a normal fever, because her fingers were colder than the air outside. It was a wonder she wasn't freezin' in this weather. "Not exactly," she spoke, her full, perfect lips forming the words. I could see her teeth were shinin' as well, perfectly straight and befitting to the rest o' her. I ran my dry tongue over my teeth. They weren't exactly straight, but they were alright.

My extra sense did a crazy little dance then – as if it wasn't really sure if she was tellin' the truth, but I decided that since I didn't feel so uncomfortable, that it wasn't a lie. Well, _not exactly,_ her words rang in my head. She was tellin' the truth, to some extent.

"If ya aren't exactly gonna kill me, what're ya gonna do…" I trailed off, fatigue edging in my tone. Come to think a it… I felt kinda drowsy now. Like I could just go to sleep right here an' maybe never even wake up.

"Trust me." Siobhan spoke softly, and there was no warning in my head. I knew I could trust her. At least for now. "Maggie… Liam and I can help you. I can make you strong enough to live."

I could see that Liam had paced away farther now, uncomfortable it looked like, and he didn't exactly look quite as friendly and soothing as Siobhan did. The invisible leash Siobhan had around her waist must be longer than I thought. His expression was a brood, almost an angered scowl of disapproval. "I know." I spoke, hearing the truth.

"How would you like to never be hungry again?"

I was silent. I think she and I both knew that answer.

"Don't be afraid." Siobhan softly said, holding out her arms as if she were holding a large basket. Liam was suddenly at her side.

"No, Siobhan." He finally spoke up, on the second time I'd heard him speak. "Let nature run its course. We weren't meant to save people."

"She is special, Liam. She has gifts. We mustn't waste them." Siobhan spoke stubbornly back, narrowing her darkened eyes.

"Lots of people have gifts." He muttered with disinterest, striding closer. When he and Siobhan moved, it wasn't as if they moved exactly – it was more like a glide. Quite impressive.

"I want to see if it will carry over. Please. It will assuage my curiosity."

Liam grumbled. "I don't think it's a sound idea."

"Have you not been with me long enough to know that I am not stirred by your opinion, Liam?" her flowing voice came, and she held out her arms again. to my surprise, she lifted me into them with ease, my body dangling weakly as the large, powerful woman held me. "Do not fall asleep, Maggie. Keep your eyes open if you can." She instructed, folding my arms close to my chest for me, holding me in tight like a swaddled baby. "And do not be fearful."

I think I nodded, but maybe I didn't. "Siobhan…"

She peered down at me. "Yes?"

I struggled with my eyelids, the constant battle already startin'. "What're you gonna do to me… Are ya gonna kill me…"

She was silent, but for reassurance, she leaned down and gently spoke to me. "No. You are safe now."

And that was that. With a rush of wind and the sound of what musta been some sort of squall tunnel, the feeling nothin' quite like I'd ever felt before, _ever._ It felt like my stomach was left behind where I'd fallen weak, my heart hammering in my chest brum-brum-brum. Landscapes flew past us, but I barely had time to view them. I cracked my eyelids more to try and see where we were. It was impossible to go this fast. _Nothin'_ in this entire world could go this fast. It was a breathtakin' speed, and I could see Liam easily beside Siobhan's swift movements. It seemed effortless for him to run, or rather glide, and for a moment I considered that we weren't running, we were flying. No, because Liam's legs were a blur underneath him. I didn't feel any jostling from Siobhan, and I noticed that she was keeping her torso perfectly still as she shot off down the dimming road. Night was falling, and the sky was dimmin' to a perfect purple twilight. There were many pot holes and mud puddles filled with brown water, but Siobhan and Liam wove around them like it was nothing, their feet doing strange quick dances as if they didn't even need to think about it. Suddenly, we were in the woods, a net of dimmin' green above us. The two immortals navigated the woods with extreme ease, as if they already knew where every single thing was laid out in advance. They leapt over mossy logs, the low-hanging moss barely bothering their hard faces, the branches never leaving a scratch on their snowy skin. Impossible. The low-hanging limbs slapped them but they barely stopped, ducking just in the nick of time before they're going to get hit. Everything blurs around me, and I settle into Siobhan's shoulder, trying desperately to hold on because every moment it seems like we're going to hit something. She isn't exactly warm and soft. Like laying my head on a rock.

Beside Siobhan, Liam pumped his arms to the max, the bent elbows blurrin' at his sides as he leapt fluently, his head ducking as Siobhan's did. He was solemn, stoic in a graceful way of his, but he was hard-faced and I could tell he wasn't happy. But he followed the woman who was his mate. I bet he'd follow her no matter what, anyways. I just had the feeling.

They cease running what seemed like only minutes later, but it was impossible because we were already so far away from the countryside and my childhood home. I wondered where we were when Liam and Siobhan slowed to walk again, now on a road that was less muddy. There were still potholes of course, and mud, but it was somewhat cleaner. I somehow had a feeling that this was far away. Miles away from my home. I wanted to ask where we were, but my drowsiness was slightly overbearing now. I wanted to close my eyes… just for a second… I closed them.

"Open your eyes." Siobhan demanded strictly but there was a still a softness to her voice.

Liam's feet crunched beside her as they swiftly walked on the road, squelching in the muddy gravel, but he would not look at his mate of me in her arms. It was incredible how they did not seem the slightest bit tired from the run. If anything, they seemed exactly the same as they had before. If not more refreshed. Her arms did not quiver with my weight, and as the sky darkened even more, they did not seem lost – they could easily find their way.

We entered a town. Very small and the only signs of life were the men that lit the torches on stilts around the town square. Siobhan and Liam walked with almost no sound at all and the men did not even notice as they ghosted through the town. Now, with my dyin' senses, I could feel a slight spray on my cheeks, the masts and winds that blew on my face at the edge of town. We were at the lochs. I had never been this far before in my life. I knew the water was hours away, miles and miles out of Inistioge. It was impossible to be here in such little time. I coughed and closed my eyes, softly mewing at the pain throughout my entire body.

"Shh." Siobhan warned, pressing one finger to my lips. "Quiet now, Maggie. We're almost there."

Wherever 'there' was, I didn't know. I could feel a tingling in my fingertips and toes. My entire body felt tingly. I didn't know what was happening, but I couldn't lift my head anymore. There was a light shining in the front of my eyes as if I couldn't see anymore. Quare, please let this be the end, please, oh please. I'm too tired to try anymore. Whatever they're going to do to me, let them do it quick.

I hadn't noticed my eyes were closed until I felt Siobhan's hand shaking me. There was a carefulness to her touch, as if she were afraid I would break. If I were fragile. "Open your eyes, Maggie. Open your eyes." I opened them, but they kept wanting to slide closed. I could hear the splash of the surf in the distance, and the could feel that the air was wet. We were close to the sea. Siobhan sat over me on a crate of some sort, and the slight rocking suggested we were in the water, but we weren't. I realized – we must be on a ship. It was dusty and dank, barely enough light to see, but I could see Liam's bent frame standing behind Siobhan.

"Her heart still beats." Liam muttered, pacing to the grimy wall of the ship. We must be under the deck, if I could guess. I had never been on a ship before, but Da had told me about them. He'd come over on one when he was young, crossing the loch so he could farm in peasant country. This was the hold.

"Keep quiet, Maggie." Siobhan said softly, noticing my shivering. Without hesitation, she pulled the draped wrap from around her shoulders and lifted my torso up from the dusted wooden floor where I lay, wrapping it around my tiny quivering water. She turned to Liam but I could tell that she was keeping one ear on me. If her hearing was really that great, then she could keep an eye on my heartbeat. Liam scowled at her as I let my eyes droop slightly with enervation. I'm pretty sure I would be drooling right now if I had anything _to_ drool.

"Siobhan…" Liam said softly. "This is a mistake."

"No, Liam. An experiment, if nothing else." She placed her hand on Liam's forearm, and he seemed almost mesmerized by her touch – like it was a drug to him. I heard him sigh, and his breath froze in the air. Slightly sustaining, and hovering above his nose until disappearing.

"We don't need another thing to worry about." The man grumbled, almost so low that I couldn't hear. "One more, and we'd be a coven. We are _not_ a coven. It is just you and me."

Coven? I recalled the stories my mother used to tell me about covens of witches, bands of evil that roamed from place to place in a group, casting hexes and curses upon innocent people.

"It doesn't mean we will be a coven, Liam… the child is dying, and I am very curious. She has gifts, and I want to see if we can create one of us that has a special talent – like some of the members of the Volturi. Wouldn't it be such an asset to us?"

Liam scowled again, his hard expression impossibly becoming harder. "I don't understand why you feel the need to rescue her. You've never rescued anyone else, gifts or not."

"I rescued you." She said nearly snidely, in a matter-o'-fact tone.

He let out a huff. "That's different, Siobhan…"

"Is it?"

He was silent, seeming to be contemplating. "I think you should let her go. Not all gifts carry through."

I had no idea on good earth what they were talkin' about, but I was barely strong enough to bother with caring. Siobhan argued, fighting for me – for whatever my gift would "carry over" into. Maybe they were going to make me like them, however they did it. Images of banshees and witches, fairies and goblins ran through my head immediately. Closing my eyes felt so good… maybe I could just go to sleep right here. No, I had to care what they did to me, didn't I?

"We'll never know if we don't do this." The woman pressed her large but feminine hand to his chest, a vicious look in her eyes. "Please, Liam… this could be a great opportunity. Look at her… look at her and tell me you don't see _something._ She could be wonderful, Liam!"

He grumbled. "I don't need another companion."

"I didn't need you either…" Siobhan whispered, touching his shoulder. "Now, my companion, you must make a choice, because I have made mine."

He took her in one arms and pressed his chin to the top of her dark head, burying his chin in the dark locks that fell in perfect, black swells of beauty. "Can't you listen to me for once? She is an immature _child._ She will be impossible to control."

She shook her head. Stubborn. "She will have gifts, Liam. I feel it. She will eventually grow out of her child-likeness. Shall I make this worth your while?" she trailed her palm on his cheek and to the back of his neck. "She will die soon if I don't do this. Will you please ratify me?"

I had a feeling that he would do anything for her with a little convincing.

I closed my eyes, knowing they probably wouldn't open again – they felt so heavy, the pain was so unbearable. I bit my lower lip, gray body curled in on itself in the fetal position. "Maggie," I heard a far-off voice, Siobhan's. How much time had passed since I closed my eyes? I struggled to open them… I was so tired. My stomach hurt so much. I couldn't feel my head anymore, dizzy. "Maggie, can you hear me?" her voice was softer now, not that it hadn't been soft before – but it was tender now, sweet. I felt her hand in mine, at least I think it was her hand. It was colder than anything I had ever felt. It was pure ice, but my body was forgetting how to shiver. I couldn't answer her. Maybe I shook my head, maybe I didn't. "Maggie, I'm sorry." She spoke swiftly. "For what I'm going to do to you. You must trust me. I am not meaning to hurt you."

In my last triumphant bit of life, I knew the last thing I ever heard would not be a lie. She was telling the truth. Please Lord, make death quick. Take me home.

I could feel lips hovering at my neck, as if contemplating. Waiting for something to happen to change her mind about what she was going to do to me. I saw a light behind my eyes. So bright, and so warm. Take me away from this place, please, oh, please. Take me home. Take me home.

There was a searing pain at the base of my neck, and two sharp objects plunged into my neck. Instead of flashing open, my eyes flinched closed, and my chest arched up at the sudden realization at what she was doing to me. I tried to struggle, grab for her – do anything I could to unclench her teeth from my neck, but the world was black now – the light was waning into oblivion, I couldn't see it anymore. Only a dot on the horizon. Searing pain gushed through my neck, but didn't stop there. It migrated quickly enough to my shoulders, and I could feel her lips sucking on my skin, draining me. Let go! Let GO! I begged, the pain unbearable, and just as I knew she was going to kill me, she let go. Blood should be pouring from my neck, but a fiery pain started to radiate. Siobhan picked up my hand, sinking her teeth into my wrist where my pulse pounded like a drum, clenching on tightly. I could feel the liquid in my body flowing up into her, until she finally found the willpower to let go and dropped my hand. She grabbed my other wrist and bit vigorously the same way, this time finding the strength not to hold on so long. Siobhan pushed my ragged dress up off of my knees and bit into my knobby kneecaps, spreading the scorching pain to my lower half as she bit into my ankles. I jerked , harshly gasping, and then then I was spasming as what felt like shocks of lightning shot through my body, never ceasing. Was this some sickening form of torture, some way to cast me into Hell?! It made sense, since I felt like my entire body was on fire.

I knew I was going to die before, but now I was being subjected to some form of torture before I was cast into the rotting pits of the Devil's territory. I arched up and my torso writhed off the ground, my mouth stretching into a scream I didn't know I had in me. I could feel the pain snaking its way into my body, my heart beating out of my chest. The scream that came from my mouth slightly choked off, a cut-off yelp that didn't sound at all flattering, but I didn't care – this was pure hell.

I opened my eyes finally and saw Siobhan crouched over me in an almost animal-like pose; I never saw a human bend in such a way. There was a red ring around her mouth, a dribble on her chin as well, and it took me a realize that it was my own blood on her mouth. She wiped it with the back of her alabaster hand, her face blurring in black and white dots in my vision. Liam was still there, that I could see, but he hovered somewhat in the back, always close to Siobhan. The woman's expression was somewhat remorseful, piteous, as she watched me squirm, thrash about and arch up. I never felt such pain in my life – it literally felt like I was bein' burned alive, the fire spreading to every single part of my body. Like a wax that settled into my skin, hotter and hotter as it got deeper and deeper into the layers. I screamed many times, the pain only growing worse.

Siobhan sat beside me for a long time, doing nothin' – watchin' over me like a guard or somethin' a the sort… her face was always the same when I could see her, or wasn't closing my eyes from pain. I felt like every single one of my bones was breaking, shattering into a million pieces after being broken over someone's leg like a skimpy twig. The fire settled in the pit of my stomach, like a demon beast devouring my insides, and I felt like my intestines were getting encased in fire. All I could see through this pain was Siobhan's hovering figure that ceased to move, still as a statue, and the dank atmosphere of the rocking ship. I wondered when the end would come. I screamed. I could hear myself screaming a _lot._ It was on impulse – I couldn't help screaming. My mind didn't want to formulate words, but if they could – what could I scream at them to get them to kill me?

Hot, hot – _MUCH TOO HOT._ My entire top half was engulfed in the flames now, however long ago they had started. Falling out of that tree when I was six – a soft scratch, compared to this. Starving to death – cool blue water around me, floating in a lagoon. The pain I felt had nothing to compare to, it was that insufferable. All I wanted was to die. All I wanted was to never have been born, suck the whole of my existence back into God's mysterious hands. Just die, die, die. Please Siobhan, please kill me. Liam was perfectly content with it! Why didn't he just kill me, put me out of my misery!

The never-ending space was my fervor-induced torture, my loud shrieks as I waited for death to come. There wasn't even a thought to time, which made everything endless and beginingless. Forever in a lost circle of pain. There was a sudden change there – one that slowly I began to notice – now that my top half had been burning for so long, endlessly, a thread was cut, allowing the fire to enter the lower bowels of my body. Endless burn. Endless burn, sending me to Hell.

Endlessly, maybe in seconds, minutes, hours, months, years – it didn't matter how long it had been, time began to mean something to me again. Time restarted, and I noticed that I could mark the intervals by the fading of the pain. At first the burning started to conclude in my toes, just slightly until instead of hot fire, it felt like the burning chemicals of dry ice. I could also feel something else – was getting _stronger. _More _powerful_ as this dry-ice burning affect started to happen. It wasn't any better than the fire, in fact it was much worse, but I could feel my weak body tensing as I writhed, I could feel my frame starting to consolidate. The fire didn't decrease in any degree, but I could feel myself beginning to be able to think around it. A new capacity of my mind that I hadn't been able to access before through the screaming and wailing. While I was getting charred alive, my hearing got sharper and sharper, I could hear soft breathing beside me somewhere, the terribly desperate beating of my heart. I counted the trivial breaths through my own teeth.

Stronger. Stronger. I could feel myself strengthening. When a new sound entered, I could hear it clearer and clearer. Two soft breathing patterns that seemed effortless compared to mine as I became more and more conscious. The burning seconds ticked on, and I screamed.

"Please, please KILL ME!" I howled, surely my voice echoing off of all of Ireland. Liam watched trivially from the corner of the boat's hold, and Siobhan stayed by my side. Pressure on my fingers. I looked up through the red and saw Siobhan slightly leaned over, her hand in mine. Her black hair was pulled to one shoulder and she still wore the same clothes I first saw her in. Fingers smoothed over my arm, gently calming me in a silent way. At least I knew someone would be there with me in the end. I wasn't gonna go alone.

It seemed like I _must _be a pile of seared bones right now, but I could feel Siobhan's fingers travel up my arm, and then gently back down like a small trickle of water. She spoke. "It's alright, Maggie. It will be over soon."

I opened my mouth to speak, but the pain was too inevitable. It came out a shriek and the backs of her fingers gently stroked over my forehead. Liam crossed over to her shoulder (he'd been stationed like a statue in the corner for the past – however long), resting his fingers on the woman's broad shoulder. "She shall be astounding, Liam."

Liam nodded in agreement but it was begrudgingly.

The pain was starting to fade from my fingers and toes, slowly but surely, and that was so soothing that the pain might not last forever. Then I noticed that the fire wasn't ceasing at my throat. If anything, it was becoming worse – so dry, so parched – so _thirsty._ Dry as a bone. My hands flashed to my throat, but it was too soon – I felt like if I didn't have a drink, I was going to explode. And the fire increased around my desperately beating heart, encircling it with the worst of the burning sensation that I had ever felt. Fire retreated from the bottom of my feet, my palms, leaving them refreshingly cool and taciturn, but it seemed like what was left of the fire was gathering in my heart. My heartbeat was the loudest thing in the room, already shockingly quick, shockingly _hot. Drumdrumdrumdrumdrum, _it went, until I couldn't stand it any longer. I couldn't burn a second more! The pain heightened once more, so intense that I was sure I was going to fall apart entirely.

The fire was almost completely gone from my body, the fire and my heart having an ongoing battle. Neither was winning, the fire desperately searching for something else combustible. I almost didn't notice that the flames were snuffed everywhere else on my body. My heart galloped on so fast that I was afraid it would burst out of my chest, the fire swirling in dancing whirly-gigs as I gasped one long breath and the fire churned into inexistence.

There was no sound in the room. The boat still swayed under me, but I didn't writhe. I didn't scream, or holler, or beg Liam and Siobhan to kill me. I didn't even move, my hands limp and ragged at my sides as I opened my eyes again – they had been closed for the last nine-hundred-eighty-seven beats.

Sharp. Defined. Everything was clearer than I had even seen it _ever_. It was dim here, but I could see each individual color of gray in every shadow, every filament of each crate that was held here. I could see dust motes in the air, separate and distinct as they spun, spinning around each other in a shadowy waltz. I took a breath, suddenly startled at the rattle in my throat; it didn't feel right. My lungs weren't waiting for the air, and I didn't need it – but it felt good. Clean. Like I could breathe in the entire room. The lovely scents were tainted by the ugly smells of murky water and old rotting wood, corroded metal.

I also heard like I never had before. I hadn't noticed I was listening in on a slow shuffle of worn shoes, feet crunching on muddy gravel. No, this couldn't possibly be right! What I was hearing must be – be miles away! I could literally feel someone shift beside me, and I turned to see Siobhan.

She looked different than I last remembered her. She was robust, of course, and still completely beautiful, but she was _shining. _Like her pastel skin had a faint waver of moonlight, and her hair – I could see every follicle in detail – the curved ends, the dust clinging to each strand, and the way they grew and curved, undulating in a detailed fashion. I sat up, expecting it to feel the ache in my middle and the unnerving weight on my shoulders to do the simple task of sitting up that would have hurt me – however long ago. But it seemed surprisingly – easy. Like it didn't take me a single bit of effort at all.

"Welcome back, Maggie." Siobhan spoke, her voice even clearer than before. Like I could pick up every monotone and note to her voice.

I struggled to find my own declaration, but my mouth felt so dry. Not uncomfortably, but it didn't feel normal. I opened my mouth yet nothing came out. I eyed Liam in the corner, still barely moving, and every thread of the tweed hat he was wearing was enhanced; I could see each fiber and particle clinging to the spun twines of it. He was breathing as well as Siobhan and I, and I could hear each measured gust rattle in his throat, as it did in mine.

"What'd you do to me?" I spoke, but it wasn't my voice. At least it didn't sound like my own. It was child-like, as it always was, but now there was something different. A smooth tone was my own, not gammed up by my grumbling speech. My voice was every bit as beautiful as Siobhan's, and it sounded like the feel of running your fingers over silk, or the sound of a tinkling bell.

Siobhan shifted, her legs under her swan style. Her brown shirt fluttered to her ankles, and I could see her brown heeled boots before the fabric slid over her perfectly shaped legs. I could see every spot of dirt on her clothes, dried bits and splatters of mud that dotted the edges of the soles, completely in detail as if I could somehow zoom in. "How do you feel?"

Angered that she wouldn't tell me what on earth she did to me, I sat up and peered at her. "I feel – grand."

She smiled, and her teeth shone a shocking white. "Lovely." She stood, and I could see immediately that she was a very imposing woman. Not only was she broad-shouldered and big-boned, she was tall as well. She towered at least an entire foot above me, more than a head. I hadn't been able to tell before, but I could barely remember my first, blurry impression on her. How long ago had it been? All of my memories seemed foggy beyond this point. "Why don't you come sit?" Siobhan offered, and I cautiously got to my feet, taking a tiny step. My weight felt like nothing under my bare feet, and when I looked down at them, they were perfectly smooth. Still dirty from lack of shoes, but my toenails were pearly white, as was my skin a fair shade of alabaster. Siobhan beckoned again, and I slowly took even steps to where she gestured, sitting on top of one of the crates beside her.

It should have been quite uncomfortable, but it wasn't. It wasn't pleasant or unpleasant, it was just – a crate. I reached up to touch my forehead – the piece of cloth I used to pull my hair back was gone – I must have ripped it off in pain, unless it burned offa me. I laced my fingers into my hairline. Quare, my hair was soft. Like touching silk, between my fingers, and I could see from the curly pieces that fell in my face that the color was an even more perfected red.

"Siobhan…" I tried again, still startled by the sound of my own voice. "What have you done to me?"

She batted her long dark lashes a few times and I could see she was sitting as straight as a board. Her fingers linked themselves together. "Maggie, have you ever heard of a vampire?"

I had. It was an old Romanian legend that the Celts carried over hundreds of years ago, and I'd heard about them. Blood-sucking demons that fed off of humans for the succulence of their blood. I didn't see the relevance they had to the conversation, but I nodded almost immediately. "Yes."

"You already know that Liam and I are not mortal. You are quite a clever girl, figuring that out on your own, aren't you?" she smiled. "But now I must tell you what we really are. We are vampires. We feed off of human blood and hunt to live. I have been a vampire for over three hundred years."

There were no bells in my head. She was not lying – if she was, I certainly would have felt. I bit my lower lip, only to find that my teeth would not graze the surface. I could feel that my teeth were incredibly strong – not the weak enamel that I remembered. In fact, my entire body felt as if it could withstand an army.

"When I said I could make you strong enough to live, the only way I could do such a thing was to make you like us – immortal. A vampire. The transformation is what you've been experiencing for the past three days." She explained, and yet again she was telling the truth.

"I understand." I said, my fingers gripping the wood of the crate. I could feel the raw power under my fingertips – the ability to crush the wooden box with my brute strength. "I – I am a vampire?"

She nodded. "Yes. Do you remember what happened?"

I thought back. No, to be honest I didn't, really. I remembered the fire so well, the burning pain and the flames lighting through my body. Everything else before was a blur. "Not particularly."

She chuckled softly, maybe a sad laugh. "That is normal, young girl. The freshest thing in your mind is the transformation. At least I believe so. It was so long ago that I was changed, and I have never changed another vampire before."

"I'm your first?"

She told me that I was. "I am surprised that I had the strength to let my venom spread. It was so tempting, and I hadn't fed in so long…" she trailed off.

_Venom. _ I suddenly felt a surge in my gums – a substance that was the only thing left flowing in my body, connected by my jaw and my gums. Where my raw power was coming from. "I – I didn't believe in vampires…"

"I agree, it is quite a lot to understand. I shall start by showing you something. Come, Maggie." She gestured, and I got up with fluent ease, following her to a few barrels in the corner that must have been there for the entire time. She easily picked one up with her palms on the side, not struggling at all, then set it down, shaking her head. "Pick up the barrel." She instructed me, and I looked at her like she was insane. I could hear the water sloshing around in it, filled to the top, and with my petite body, I knew I could never possibly lift such a thing. She directed me to pick it up again, and I begrudgingly placed my small hands on the stout sides of the wooden barrel, crouching and preparing for the immense weight.

I lifted, and with ease the barrel came off the ground as if it weight no more than a twig. I didn't feel any strain at all, in fact I felt like I could carry three of them stacked on top of each other. Siobhan smiled, and I could hear Liam huff behind me.

"Carry it over here," Siobhan suggested, and I did, each step on my bare feet fluent and graceful. I glided as well as the two vampires had, setting the damp barrel down by Siobhan. She easily pried the lid off with her bare hands, and water glistened up to the brim, just as I had guessed before. Not guessed, _knew. _"Come, Maggie. Look at your reflection."

I stood on my tip of my toes to peer into the base of the barrel. My breath left my lips at the sight I beheld. My face was perfect, chin rounded and my slightly uneven jaw cocked back into place. My cheeks looked sallow, as they did before, but they were filled in enough to just look thin. My skin _shone, _as if made out of the frost itself, pearly and as white as snow. My eyes were red! Even redder than my hair that sprung in bouncy curls past my shoulders, perfect corkscrews. Under my eyes were shaded dark circles, bruise-like in a way, but not baggy. I held up my hands in front of my face to see that it was really my own reflection. They moved just as mine did. Lord, I was absolutely _stunning._ Whatever happened in the "transformation", it had made me enticingly beautiful, almost in a seductive way. I stood there with my mouth hanging open, pink lips parted in shock.

"Siobhan – my eyes…" I started, then noticed her own crimson irises. "They won't turn back to my own color…"

"I'm afraid not." She said softly. "You are picturesque, Maggie."

I stared at myself again, touching my face that was hard, white. Cherry eyes stared back at me, and when I opened my mouth again to speak, I could see that every one of my teeth was corrected and in place where it should be, as if by magic. I could hear Liam shift behind me, but he didn't move.

I listened. I wasn't quite sure what for, but I listened. There was something I didn't recollect. My heartbeat. It was _gone. _Void, absolutely not there. It had stopped, as had Siobhan and Liam's a long time ago. I really was immortal. Or _undead. _Siobhan noticed my distress and questioned to distract me.

"What do you feel?"

I no longer felt hungry. I didn't have any desire for food – I thought for a second and suddenly I could feel a parched feeling in my throat, almost an unbearable burn. My hands shot to my throat. "Thirsty."

_**Again, sorry for the long update… I have other stories to attend to, and I just got kind of caught up! Thanks for reading, and please leave a review if you have a second! Thanks a bunch!**_


End file.
